Ironfur
by Borthwick
Summary: Some of the minor Southern houses still followed the ways of the Old Gods. In their veins ran the blood of the First Men. House Ironfur of the Ironmountain in the Westerlands stood alone as a bastion of the old ways in the West. This is their song of Ice and Fire.
1. Iron Fur, Iron Will

The young lord hadn't left the safety of his lands before. He hesitated as he touched his hand to his horse's head, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. His father's death had been sudden but not altogether unexpected. He had been praying in the Godswood when his life had ended. He had been found laying between the oldest Weirwood and the tombstone of the first Lord Ironfur.

The funeral service had been short but well-attended. While none of the attendees were nobles, the common folk had travelled from all over the lordship to pay respect to their passed lord. Here the House Ironfur was well respected, not a single man or woman of the villages and towns under their protection ever dissented to their rule.

But outside of the borders of the Ironfur lands they were a rather isolated family, openly disliked and looked down upon by other noble houses, even those with less power. House Ironfur was known for marrying lowborn women even when noble daughters were available, the Ironfurs claimed that they only married the best women and that heritage meant little. Any lowborn wives took the name of Winterbane as a sign of their common birth and, in the Ironfur lands, an honour of being chosen to be the wife of an Ironfur.

The raven had come a week before. Its letter bearing condolences for the death of the previous Lord Ironfur as well as a demand. He was to raise a suitable levy and ride for King's Landing as soon as possible. There he would defend the King, his realm and his people from the coming usurper. Idris Ironfur had been there when the last raven had told his father that he was not to raise forces to fight the war against the Northmen. The Ironfurs and their people were children of the First Men and followed the Old Gods. They were a risk on the field of battle against their northern brethren.

A door slammed across the courtyard. "Do I look like a cripple to you! I'm carrying a baby, I won't be carried by one! Leave me be." A young woman with hair like liquid fire dancing across her back and over her shoulders stepped through the door. She was followed by a short man in a green doublet, the maester. Her eyes were a deep emerald green and alight with anger as she walked. The maester however was wary, his pale blue eyes looking towards the Lord stood beside his horse in front of the stables.

"Jonella." Idris bowed his head to the woman. "How goes the day?" She glared at him, inciting a soft chuckle. He took her hand in his and brushed his lips across the knuckles. "I suppose Maester Lubeck wants you to remain at the Ironmountain instead of riding with us."

"Again." She still seemed angered. "He must have told me that it could risk the child being hurt on the journey at least a hundred times this week." Her arms folded over the barely noticeable baby bump. The maester hadn't bothered to continue crossing the courtyard and instead turned towards the rookery. He was well aware that it would be impossible to persuade the young lord to instruct his wife to do something she so clearly did not wish to do. Idris took Jonella into his arms and kissed her head.

"Of course you're riding with us anyway?" She nodded in reply. "Good, I've saddled Shade." He indicated the black horse three stalls down with the door open and a large black muzzle snorting. She smiled at him, kissing him on the lips gently before going to greet her horse. He shook his head clear again before mounting and riding out of the stables courtyard and joining the force he had been able to raise in the short time given. He had two dozen archers , 150 spearmen, four noblemen and their sons from the nearby lesser noble estates under Ironfur rule and twenty members of his family guard all with their own mounts in case of situations requiring mobility. He gazed upon the small band of skilled fighters. Many of the Westerlander houses could raise forces ten times as large, and if given a full moon's time to raise forces the larger houses could raise hundreds of times as many men.

He had heard rumours of the boy king upon the Iron Throne. He was harsh and cold with those who disappointed him. Perhaps rumours were simply rumours. But as he looked upon the force waiting for him he wondered if the boy might punish him for bringing so few men to his aid. Idris sighed. They would have to wait and see. Jonella's hand touched his arm, shaking him from his reverie. He smiled a soft smile and saw her roll her eyes. She rode down from the stables to the men waiting below seizing a banner from against a wall as she passed and waving it in the air grinning back at him.

The banner had a grey wildcat pouncing with a black triangle pointing upwards behind it all resting on a field of blood red. House Ironfur's banner. She fastened it into a holder at the back of her saddle and arrived at the lower courtyard. Many of the castle's inhabitants had come to see them off. Idris rode down to the men and called for the gates to be opened. He raised a hand and the column of soldiers left the castle. It would be only half a day to the Goldroad. Then half a week to the Capital from there.

But the seasons were changing and war was burning. Lord Idris Ironfur sighed and took his beautiful Winterbane wife's hand into his. He looked towards the distant hills that held the Goldroad on their backs. Neither seasons nor war would stop the Lord Ironfur.

Iron Fur, Iron Will.


	2. The Hornvale

They reached the Goldroad as the sun was setting and set a disciplined camp at the side of the road, atop one of the hills that carried it through the Westerlands. To the north the Ironmountain stood alone, clear against the sky and even from this distance the castle and town was alight with flames dancing into the darkening night. The keep at the top of the mountain was a large ten sided tower with grey stone sealed bridges leading to five shorter and smaller towers. The large round roof tops had entrances from where the servants came to light a ring of braziers around the roof edges each night.

The keep was then surrounded by several courtyards slightly lower down the mountainside, some carved into the mountain face others hanging over the side. Here were the barracks and stables and guest houses. All of this was surrounded by a thick and tall wall of rough hewn stone with leather hides nailed all along the outside and kept wet by the castle guard. The single gatehouse to the keep held strong oak doors with a thin iron plating on the front behind a castle-forged steel portcullis. The town then ran down the mountain haphazardly with many streams dancing through the streets and inns and taverns throughout. The Godswood of the Ironmountain was in truth just an ancient forest that grew on the slopes of the mountain and surrounded the castle and town entirely. Within it grew nearly a hundred different weirwood groves and it also held the all of the old tombs of the Ironfur Lords since the Age of Heroes.

Idris sighed as he gazed upon the home he was leaving behind perhaps even for several years. There were no weirwood groves in King's Landing, or even within a days ride. He turned back to the small camp, several campfires were already lit and a basic wood stake perimeter had been set with guards positioned at the edge. The Goldroad was the safest road these days but that wouldn't keep bandits from attacking lazy travellers. Jonella was cooking some rabbit stew over one of the fires, some of the men were helping her provide for the troops.

He walked over to the fire in front of the tent that he and his wife shared and carried the bowls of stew already finished out to the men on guard duty and sat with them while they ate, talking about the capital and the various stories that had found their way to the Ironmountain. Many of them felt that the court would be a hostile place, it was well known that the people of the Ironmountain were viewed as a savage people by those who followed the faith of the seven. And also that the people of King's Landing did not believe in the same values and follow the same customs as the Ironfur. There was little respect amongst these Andal noblemen for the commonfolk or even for merchants, a stark contrast with the Ironfurs who were reputed to know the name of every servant in the Ironmountain.

Jonella came around the camp collecting bowls and switching the guards for more rested guards. She and Idris stayed on guard duty together until the dawn when they finally slept after being replaced by some of their family guard. Shortly after sunrise the small army began to ride east. Moreland Castle would be their first stop just before midday and they expected to sleep that night in the safety of Deep Den.

The ride was uneventful and Moreland Castle was soon upon them, its walls were old and dilapidated and the heavy wooden doors scarred. A flag flew over the gate house bearing the green and brown stripes of Lord Robin Moreland. "State your name and purpose here!" A guard called down from the battlements above.

"I am the Lord Idris Ironfur of the Ironmountain, my men and I are riding for King's Landing at the command of Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock!" The man disappeared from the battlements for a moment. He returned quickly.

"Lord Moreland is not accepting guests at this time! Continue your way east and leave the Hornvale with haste! Be glad of Lord Moreland's mercy!" The man went away again. The gates remained closed. Idris looked back at the short train of men behind him. A shook his head to himself. Jonella rolled her eyes and her horse began to walk forward and around the small keep that rested by the Goldroad. The rest followed.

The group continued to ride across the backs of many hills before passing between two mountains and finally leaving the Hornvale just before sunset. It would be a few hours ride to Deep Den. As the night darkened quickly riders were sent ahead to Deep Den to ask the Lyddens for hospitality and accommodation. Others rode around the group with large iron lanterns shining bright lights down the hills and into the nearby trees to ward off bandits and to reveal the more foolhardy ones.

A crossbow bolt flashed in the light of the lanterns as it flew across in front of Idris and sailed away into the night on the far side of the riders. The train of riders scattered into a chaotic swarm, bolts flying into the mass seemed to be unable to stick into the thin light armour of the men and the soft canvas that covered most of the horses. A scream sounded from a copse of trees to the south of the road.

Confused men ran out of the trees chased by five riders who in the chaos had slipped unnoticed down the hill and into the woods. Their blades ran red with blood and the fleeing men were trapped inside the swirling mass of horses, many of the thirty or so bandits were trampled underfoot. Two survived and were pulled up by some of the men and dragged to the front of the train of men, that had swiftly reformed after the attack.

"No banners or markings of allegiance my Lord. Nor any camp that we saw."

"No camp? Then they are from a town or village nearby. Remove the dead from the road and hang these two from those trees. Bandits die, such is the law." Jonella nodded her head in agreement and the men carried the bodies into the copse of trees as the two bandits begged for mercy. Mercy didn't come.

The messengers sent ahead to Deep Den returned shortly afterwards. accompanied by riders in green and brown with a white badger blazing across their chests. "Lord Lewys Lydden promises warm food and warm beds for you and your men, my Lord." One of the Lydden riders bowed his head from atop his horse. "Let us ride swiftly, the night will only get darker and even armed men such as yourselves are in danger on the Goldroad at night." He then turned his horse about and began to ride towards the lights in the distance. Deep Den had just appeared over the crest of the hill and its large braziers promised a great deal of warmth. The men rode quicker at its sight, a few snorting at the mention of danger on the Goldroad.

Idris and Jonella smiled at one another as they passed through the gatehouse of the Lyddens' stronghold. It was far larger than Moreland Castle and while it had no town like the Ironmountain it was still very populous and noticeably so despite the late hour. An old bald man stood at the top of a short flight of steps just past the first courtyard with several armoured guards around him.

"Welcome to my home Lord Ironfur, Lady Winterbane. We haven't had visitors from the Ironmountain in many years. Would you dine with me before taking to your beds?"


	3. Whispers from a Badger

"My condolences for the loss of your father. When he was young, just older than you are now, we hosted a feast for his nameday here with him in attendance and a small tourney as well." Lord Lewys Lydden sighed. "A good man. That's certain. The whole lot of you Ironfurs have been good men. House Lydden certainly hasn't forgotten what your family did for us on the Field of Fire, we would have been extinguished that day and then I would never have been born."

"Which would naturally be a great shame for us all Lord Lewys." Jonella spoke across Idris. The dining hall of Deep Den was large enough to house all of the men that had ridden east, the people of Deep Den had already eaten several hours before, only Lord Lewys was eating with them and even he ate little looking rather tired in his old age. The ceiling of the hall was held up by arches of white stone and the white badger of House Lydden hung from every wall. Long tables ran the length of the room and in the few hours since the Ironfur messengers had arrived Lord Lewys' cooks had prepared a small feast. The food was rather simple which suited Idris' tastes better, the people of the Ironmountain lived a simpler life when they could.

"Indeed my dear Lady." Lord Lewys looked amused. "I received a raven from Moreland Castle earlier today. Apparently a group of savages had been brave enough to wander up to Lord Robin's gates. He sought to warn me that they looked to be heading eastwards. Of course after your riders came to my gates I understood what he was on about but still... Perhaps you should send ravens ahead to ensure that the Lords you meet on your travels are in fact willing to house you. Unfortunately House Lydden is rather unusual in its fondness for your people."

Idris sighed. "Yes Lord Moreland was unhappy to have us on his lands." Lord Lewys laughed. The meal was coming to a close. "I'll send letters in the morning, we have enough ravens to send one of them to each of the castles we intend to stop at. Tell me though, this boy king..."

Lord Lewys pondered for a moment. "I assume you've heard some of the rumours?" Idris nodded, Jonella smiled softly beside him. "Yes, yes you do get plenty of merchants at the Ironmountain, no iron as good as yours, they say. The boy is ruthless, he had Eddard Stark's head removed from his shoulders and keeps his daughters as 'guests'." Lord Lewys laughs. "Guests! I shudder to think what he might have done with them, the whispers I've heard say they've been beaten, publically. The court have some distaste for him but they seem to enjoy his brutality when it isn't aimed at them. His sessions of court sound - interesting. Debtors who can't pay with coin have their flesh removed as payment instead." Lord Lewys shakes his head.

"How do you think he'll handle our presence?" Jonella asked.

"He wasn't raised in the West, but his mother was. The name Winterbane will attract attention from her at least. The King, though, shouldn't care much. There's a tourney for his fifteenth nameday in half a moon's time. So he could be in a fairly good mood when you arrive. Please don't start trouble with him. You and yours are distinctly different from the people that will be at court. And that difference will stand out. Make sure it stands out in the right way. If I get a raven telling me that you removed someone's hand for daring to touch your lady wife." He shook his head. "You are only a lord in King's Landing and a minor one at that. The King won't cause you trouble if you don't give him reason to, I should think."

Idris and Jonella shared a look. "Thank you for the meal Lord Lewys, and the advice. I'll take it to heart I assure you. We've been travelling for some time and you seem to be tiring yourself. It seems best to take to bed now." Idris bowed his head and took Jonella's hand in his own.

"Of course. Enjoy your sleep Lord Idris. The road to King's Landing is long enough with good rest, longer still without." The old, bald lord left through a small door in the back of the hall. A servant led Idris and Jonella to their quarters. The quarters were smaller than their bedchambers at home but suitable enough for guests quarters especially for only one night. Deep Den was slightly smaller and younger than the Ironmountain. Jonella removed her riding clothes and the light armour made of small strings of iron, woven by seamstresses at the Ironmountain. The lighter armour could withstand arrows and bolts and even spears, if it was stabbed at then the point would only glance off of the woven layers of iron threads blessed by the Old Gods.

She removed her underclothes and put on a soft nightshift. Idris had already changed into his nightclothes and was waiting on the bed. When she lay down beside him, he kissed her on the lips softly. She lay her head onto his shoulder and draped an arm across his chest, some of her hair following and splaying across their bodies. He stroked her gently and ran his fingers through her fiery hair. She pinched him. "Sleep." She murmured in a tired voice. He chuckled softly, kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes.

Sleep claimed them both shortly afterwards.


	4. When Kings Become Lords

The Field of Fire had been three hundred years before. It was a battle scarred into the history of Westeros and many noble houses had burnt out of existence that afternoon including the Gardiner Kings of the Reach. King Loren Lannister held a war council the day before the battle, Lord Loren Lannister held a council on granting lands from extinct families to the rightful owner the day after the battle.

"This is foolishness. You intend to fight his army and three dragons at once? I owe it to my men not to send them to form ranks tomorrow." Lord Brythion Ironfur slammed an armoured fist down onto the council table, strands of his iron fur-like armour whipping about as his arm moved.

"You owe it to your King to fight tomorrow, or shall you be executed tonight?" King Loren leant forward over clasped hands.

Lord Brythion laughed. "Ha! Your whole army couldn't defeat the half thousand Ironfur men I have with me."

"Then why do you think this Valyrian army can defeat them?"

"Because they have dragons, we have no experience fighting dragons. Your Andal ancestors fled dragon's fire when they came to Westeros. Surely you remember that the Valyrian Freehold conquered half the world on the backs of those beasts." Lord Brythion leant back. "If you are certain that you're going to fight tomorrow then you should pin leather armour to your plate and soak it. So long as its wet you won't burn alive."

"You just said you have no experience with dragons, savage." A voice piped up from the far end of the tent.

"I have experience enough with fire. Don't you agree Lord Payne? It was your home after all that burnt down that dreadful evening. Such a shame that my men didn't find what you stole. Alas it must have gone up in smoke." Lord Brythion smiled cruelly down the table at Lord Payne. "Your Grace, if your armour holds water it won't burn and steel plate is bad at holding in water, you need the leather and you need it wet."

King Loren nodded. He looked to a squire off to the side. "See to it that my armour is properly modified, if I burn tomorrow you will burn as well boy. House Ironfur is assigned to the southern flank, your job is to hold off the Clawmen that he's hoping to flank us with."

"My men won't fight." Lord Brythion's expression was clear, he was set on his course and nothing would change his mind. "My men will serve as medics, we'll carry supplies and deliver arrows to the archers, we'll bring the injured from the battle and fill barrels with water but we aren't fighting, get someone else to send their men headfirst into a dragon's maw." Lord Brythion rose and glared at all of the Lords of the Westermountains, seeking out someone who would challenge him. Receiving no challenge he turned and left the tent. He passed several guards all dressed in their heavy ironfur armour. The strands of ironfur moved in the wind as it blew as if it were hair and reflected torchlight in mesmerising patterns. It appeared only the Ironfur were on guard duty the others were all getting drunk or bedding women before the battle.

He shook his head to clear it of anger. Why should his men fight and die in this battle when they had no need to, why should Ironfur blood be spilt because these Andals were too stubborn to listen to him. He sighed, took a spear and shield from beside his tent and strode out to the wooden stake perimeter that had been set up. The nightfires of the Valyrian army burnt against the dark on the far side of a field of golden wheat. No rain, the whole field would likely burn soon even without dragons or armies.

The sun rose and even peaked before the armies began to form into ranks opposite one another. King Loren and several knights were clustered together in front of the center. He raised an arm with a steel sword in his hand and the lines advanced. The Ironfur men stayed behind, some had already removed the large wheels and leather canvasses from the wagons that had come with them. They strapped the leather to the wheels to crate large shields requiring two bearers each. Then they made stretchers from the bases of the wagons.

The singing of steel sounded from the across the field. Then the screech of dragons. Three dragons appeared over the top of the woods behind the Valyrian troops and shortly after the golden wheat was aflame. The screams were very loud. Ironfur men carried the large shields dripping with water from the river that kept these farms watered and escorted the medics into the blazing field carrying the screaming and burning injured out of the flames and treating those who could be treated.

Lord Brythion dove through the fire, his ironfur armour rustling as the hairs caught the flames about him and whipped them up into taller fires. A banner was still waving ahead, the horn of the troops on the southern flank commanded that they hold the line and the men did as they were bid. The banner was half green half brown and bore a white badger with stood on its hind legs and with its claws bared ready to strike. The banner tumbled. Lord Brythion rushed forwards to where the banner had been. A man in thick armour was on the ground screaming, four younger men were trying to bat the flames off of him.

It seemed someone had been listening at the council, all of the men on this flank had leather armour on the outside of their heavier armour. Lord Brythion raised the man onto a stretcher the wet stretcher calming the fire still dancing over the man enough that he wasn't screaming anymore. "Collapse the flank."

"We'll all die." One of the younger men replied. "We can't just run or it'll be slaughter. We'll hold until you get father to safety."

Lord Brythion shook his head. "No, if you stay it'll be slaughter." As if to accentuate his remark a large black dragon crashed into the line before taking to the air again. It had crushed at least half of the men of this badger lord and threw most of the rest to the ground. The four sons looked at one another and nodded.

Lord Brythion stepped back out of the burning field the badger lord upon his stretcher upon his shoulder. A horn sounded. There were some screams but then there were men streaming out of the flames dancing at the edge of the field. The four sons were the last out of the fire. Honourable and brave men who can listen to reason, I like these badgers. Medics rushed over to tend to the burnt and wounded.

With the collapse of the southern flank Clawmen ran around the sides of the Lannister and Gardiner army. King Loren rode out of the fires alone, the Gardiners never escaped the field. When the field had finally burnt out the next morning the death toll had reached over ten thousand including the entirety of many noble families. The Valyrian armies however seemed almost untouched. The three dragons stood on the ground in front of the battle lines.

King Loren rode out to the Dragon King. He dismounted and bent his knee. Then he stood again leaving his crown at the feet of the Dragon King. He rode back as Lord Loren Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. Lord Lydden stood beside Lord Ironfur, leaning on a son. He had been badly burnt but he had sworn that he and his family would remember that day until the end of days. The Ironfur had saved the entire male part of the Lydden family at the Field of Fire.

Lord Brythion had only grunted in reply but afterwards the Lyddens and Ironfurs had remained friendly, occasionally sending sons and daughters to be educated at Deep Den or the Ironmountain. At Deep Den a large Godswood was grown with a single weirwood tree in it for any Ironfur visitors and a sept was built at the Ironmountain for the Lyddens to use as they needed whenever they visited.

That friendship between the two families thrived even after three hundred years.


	5. Real Proper Knights

"That direwolf seal looks remarkably like the Stark sigil." Lord Lewys was sat beside Idris as his ravens returned from seeking accommodation for the road ahead. Idris sighed.

"The lands east of here are controlled by the Paynes, if we ride through with Ironfur banners we won't get to the other side of the Paynes' lands, even with Lord Tywin's letter. For us it's better to leave the Goldroad and go through Stoney Sept instead." Lord Lewys made a noise of consideration beside him.

"We are at war with the Northmen, you know." He paused. "I've readied a hundred of my men to ride with you, three hundred men should prevent the Northmen from trying anything without considering it properly. And of course I shan't allow any whisperings to wander about which way you rode to reach King's Landing." The sun had just risen and the Ironfur had expected to leave that morning. Most of them already had their light riding armour on and had saddled their horses and covered them with their protective horse cloaks.

"We are grateful for your generosity Lord Lewys." Jonella leant forward over her now empty bowl. "But I fear Lydden banners may be... less welcome in the North. We wouldn't want to put your men at risk." Idris nodded in agreement.

Lord Lewys waved a hand. "Nonsense. The men are already mounted and they aren't bringing Lydden banners with them, we aren't so foolish. Besides, all the men are volunteers. It is not just the noblemen of Deep Den that are fond of the name Ironfur." This had been evident during the two days spent at the castle, the servants were exceptionally eager help the Ironfurs, both the soldiers and nobility, and had been delighted when the Lord and Lady Ironfur had already learnt to recognise those who worked around them even the cooks who rarely left the kitchens. Just that morning an Ironfur banner, though poorly made, had been hanging from one of the homes of the commonfolk here and a merchant had been selling wares with the Ironfur sigil painted on them to remind the people of the visit from the Ironfurs.

"Your family are in many of the legends and tales that old women tell their children, though I do doubt many of the tales. Tell me Lord Idris, can you really turn into a wild cat and you, my Lady, can you summon streams to spring from the earth?" He smiled amusedly bringing them all to chuckle happily, shaking their heads.

Two hours later they departed and began to ride north towards the Stoney Sept and the lands held by the Northmen. The journey north was uninterrupted and slow going, no roads led from Deep Den to Stoney Sept and the nearby river roads were dangerous to travel along, the war was fierce here at the southern edge of the Riverlands. It was evening before they reached Stoney Sept. The town was deserted but for a few families of peasants whose farms had miraculously survived recent burnings. The town's namesake, however, had not fared so well. The roof had collapsed and only three of the seven walls were still standing.

Jonella asked the peasants for what had happened. There had been a skirmish just to the west of the town and when the Northmen won they had accused the townsfolk of assisting the Westerlanders. Several young men of fighting age had been hanged and the grain stores were burnt before they demolished the Stoney Sept.

Idris had not expected to need to purchase food for his men on the journey. They were meant to be greeted by Lords at each place they came to. Therefore he had no silver to buy food from the peasants. He rode over to the sept. It wasn't particularly large and the river nearby could supply most of the materials for mortar to rebuild the fallen walls. He nodded to himself. Surely repairing the sept would be payment enough for hospitality.

"Lord Yorwick, take some of the men to the river with buckets and start making mortar, Jonella get the stones moved off of the foundations and clear the space, Torrhen you need to collect lumber, bring some for supporting columns and some to make ramps to haul the stones to the higher parts of the sept." The three left and took a group of men to help in their tasks. Many of peasants had come to watch.

As the sun set two of the walls were completed. Large fires were set about the edge of the sept and a wooden stake perimeter set around the whole town. Idris took charge of the guards and left the construction in the hands of Jonella. Bread was brought out to the workers and the guards during the night by some of the commonfolk. The guards and builders took shifts so some could sleep.

By the dawn all of the walls were finished and the bell tower was half-built. The walls were being whitewashed and the smashed statues fixed by two stone masons who lived in the town. The townspeople brought more food as the sun reached its peak. Finally the bell tower and roof had been finished. The ramps were dismantled and turned into stairs to reach the twin bells that hung once more from the top of the bell tower. Even the Lydden men had gone about their work without complaint.

There were no glassblowers in the town though so the stained glass seven pointed star that used to stand in the back wall of the sept was replaced with an iron seven pointed star resting inside of the stone wall. Night had fallen again before the sept was finished. The townsfolk expressed their gratitude loudly and fed the men to a hearty breakfast the next morning.

"M'lord?" A young boy from the town was looking up at Idris, he had just mounted his horse beside Jonella. They had donned their light riding armour earlier that morning and were about to leave.

"Yes young one?"

"I want to go with you."

"Why? Surely you should stay with your family." The boy looked down and tears began to run down his face.

"They hanged m'lord. The Northmen hanged em." Idris looked over to Jonella. "I'd be your squire, m'lord. I'm the proper age and all, I'm eight I am. And I'll do all I'm told too." Idris shook his head.

"I am not a knight, so I shan't have a squire." The boy looked down in dismay. "But I'll see to it that when we get to King's Landing a good knight squires you. What do you think of that?"

"A real proper knight, m'lord?" Idris laughed.

"Yes a real proper knight." The boy nodded vigorously. Idris leant over from his horse picked the boy up and put him on his horse in front of him. "What's your name?"

"I'm Mullendore m'lord." The boy twisted backwards to see him.

"Well then Mullendore," Idris raised an arm and the train of men began to move forwards, "Let's go find some real proper knights."


	6. Wild, Vicious, Savage, Dangerous

The journey from the Ironmountain to King's Landing had taken eleven days. Six of which had been on the road with only their disciplined camps as respite from the travelling. Mullendore had been sleeping in a cot in Idris and Jonella's tent. He had proven to be a loyal and diligent boy. He carried out every task to perfection, or as near to perfection as he could reach. He had had no training in wielding weapons or dressing someone in armour but he had taken to the more menial untrained tasks with fervor even staying awake at nights to keeping all the fires well stocked with wood whilst his lord and lady were standing guard. Despite his young age he refused to go to his cot before they were on their way to rest too.

Mullendore had learnt from the other Ironfur men quickly and could now sit a horse somewhat comfortably by himself but the horse still needed to be led by another rider. He looked on in awe as they passed through the Lion's Gate of King's Landing. He rode just behind Idris and Jonella. The Ironfur banner was unfurled overhead and the wind was strong enough to blow it out such that it was recognisable rather than just being a piece of cloth hanging from a pole as it had been on several occasions during the journey.

Men in golden cloaks escorted them through the huge city towards the Red Keep. It stood out over the top of the city as did the pure white Sept of Baelor. Mullendore looked about with childish excitement, the market was large and busy, filled with noises and scents that he'd never smelt and heard before at Stoney Sept. Further from the marketplace the city took on a fouler odour. He clenched a hand over his nose, disturbing the horse beneath him as his hand brushed its neck.

The preparations for the King's nameday were well underway, right at that moment the King was breaking his fast for his nameday and receiving gifts. Mullendore looked at the bag hanging at Lord Ironfur's side, it held the King's gift. Suddenly the horses stopped. They had reached the keep's outer courtyard and would have to dismount the horses. Lord and Lady Ironfur slipped from their horses gracefully, bouncing on the pads of their feet softly. The rest of the Ironfur doing the same.

Lady Jonella reached up for him and he clambered down using her arms as support. He flushed bright red and looked down, she giggled next to him, Lord Idris chuckled as well further away. Most of the Ironfur and Lyddens, he reminded himself that many of these men weren't actually riding under the same banner, were leading the horses into the stables. Four of the Ironfur men, however, were already making their way with Lord Idris and Lady Jonella across the courtyard to the entrance of the keep. Mullendore ran to catch up.

They were all waiting outside of a pair of huge wooden doors while Mullendore ran his hands over the red stone of the keep's walls when the herald returned from the dining hall. "Lord Idris Ironfur and Lady Jonella Winterbane of the Ironmountain!" He called out into the hall signalling that they should enter. The four Ironfur guards escorted them all in, Mullendore standing slightly behind them. Lady Jonella and Lord Idris seemed to have stiffened slightly, he looked past them, a blonde-haired woman was looking over at them with disgust. How could she look at them with disgust? They were both good looking and really nice.

"Your Grace." Lord Idris and Lady Jonella bowed to the boy sat at the middle of the table in front of them. "I wish you a joyous nameday and many more to come." Lord Idris spoke quietly so the room was silent trying to hear him but not so quietly as to sound ill or sleepy or for people not to understand him. Mullendore knew that Lord Idris did that when talking to people he didn't know. It meant they had to try hard to listen so they would remember what he said more. "Your grandfather commanded that I come to the capital to ensure the defence against all traitors is sound and that you and your family are safe. Lord Lydden of Deep Den sent a hundred of his personal guard as well when he heard the purpose of our mission." The king nodded.

"Yes, well we are always glad to have more loyal men. I've never heard of the Ironmountain before."

"It's a small castle in the Westerlands, your Grace, it provides much of the high quality iron that we use are using in the war." A thin young man remarked from nearby on the table, he wore a light blue dress suit with lime green lining. "However I haven't heard of a House Winterbane." He looked pointedly at Lady Jonella.

The blonde haired woman broke her silence. "Of course you haven't Lord Baelish. Winterbane isn't a noble house. Its a stupid little name that commoners use." She spat out the words as if they were venom. Lord Idris inhaled deeply.

"Indeed." He glanced up and down the table, clearly telling them all with his eyes that the discussion about where Lady Jonella was from was over. Even the king squirmed a little under that look. "We have brought a gift for your nameday, your Grace," he opened the bag beside him and pulled out a model, "a stag, made of iron from the heart of the Ironmountain and woven by the seamstresses at the castle. It was blessed by a septon the stream that runs through the sept at the Ironmountain such that the owner shall always be in the minds of the gods." The stag was a foot and a half tall from the top of its antlers and was stood on its hind legs kicking in fury.

The king looked to the blonde woman and back. "I thank you Lord Ironfur, it is a thoughtful gift." He opened his mouth to continue before closing it again. Lord Idris and Lady Jonella turned to leave the dining hall and were half-way to the exit when the king spoke again. "Will you be competing for my nameday, Lord Ironfur." The king had a look in his eyes that Mullendore didn't like.

"I shall not, your Grace, I heard the tourney is only for knights, and I have never been knighted. It is not my people's way to have knights."

"The Northmen don't have knights either." The king left the statement there, waiting eagerly for a reply.

"Then perhaps the Ironfur are not so different from the Northmen. Wild, vicious, savage, dangerous." Lord Idris took a step forward, the Ironfur guards at his side stepped forward in unison, pointed their spears forwards and steadied their shields. The loud clanging of iron on stone rang out. The king suddenly looked terrified, the two knights behind him began drawing their swords. "Enjoy your nameday." He grinned. "I certainly shall."

Lord Idris turned around and left, the rest of them following in his wake.


	7. Old Blood Indeed

The sun had come out for the king's nameday. The tournament was to begin with melee duels in the morning and Idris was walking down from the quarters he shared with Jonella with a pair of wicker chairs on his shoulders and an amused wife following behind him. When they reached the raised platform from which the king and his family was to watch the duels, Idris placed the chairs down side by side near to the platform. The king gave a glance towards them and quickly looked away.

Mullendore was sat cross-legged before them and four Ironfur guards stood behind them in their ironfurs, the hairs of iron from their heavy armour reflected the heat and light into patterns on the stones around them. A red star burnt as it fell across the sky. Idris pointed up towards it. "The servants were calling it Lannister red." Jonella looked up.

"Stars aren't struck down for any mortal man." She replied. She shook her head, "No that's the red of weirwood blood. Old magics are awakening again." Idris looked at her pensively before looking back up at the falling star.

"Indeed." He touched a hand to her baby bump. She rolled her eyes. A gong sounded and the herald began to call out the names of various knights. Mullendore looked on in fascination in front of them. It was likely that he would squire for one of these knights, he thought. Idris already had made arrangements for him to be squire to one of the Lydden knights that had ridden with them.

"Ser Boros Leek of Deep Den and Ser Brynden Rosby." The herald called out from across the melee arena floor. Ser Boros was tall, much taller than Ser Brynden, and much stockier as well. However when the fight began he moved quickly and proved to be much more elegant and agile than his opponent had clearly expected. Ser Brynden was flung backwards as a shield struck him in the chest. He fell to the floor having only managed to strike Ser Boros once on his sword arm with the flat of his sword. The herald called out the winner.

More fights occurred and the sun rose. Soon there was some sort of argument on the raised platform. Sandor Clegane had just knocked another knight down onto a lower platform to his death with a mace. The raised platform quietened as Ser Sandor came over, the argument already over. The next fight was called. The second knight didn't appear from the stands. "Ser Dontos Hollard!" The herald called again.

Clanging sounded from a nearby staircase as an overweight and stumbling man dropped his helmet and it rolled down to the far side of the raised platform. "I'm sorry your Grace. I'm Ser Dontos."

"Are you drunk?" The king's voice came down from above.

"No your Grace, I only had two cups of wine. On account of your nameday, your Grace."

"Only two cups? Why come here have another. Celebrate my nameday with as much wine as you want. Ser Meryn! Help Ser Dontos celebrate my nameday as he should." A knight in gold with a white cloak grabbed Ser Dontos and dragged him to one side. A servant brought out a barrel of wine. The servant then put a drinking horn to Ser Dontos' mouth as the barrel was poured into it. More conversation came from within the raised platform's party. "Stop. Do you hear what the Lady has to say Ser Dontos, you're to be my fool now!"

"Thank you your Grace, my Lady." Ser Dontos bowed slightly, still gasping for air.

"Lord Ironfur, why don't you compete in Ser Dontos' place?" Idris stood up. The boy king had come over to the other side of the raised platform. Idris sighed.

"I am no knight, your Grace. As I have made aware to you, I may not compete in your nameday tourney as it is only permitted for knights to compete here today." Idris went to sit down again.

"It is my nameday tournament and I am king! If I command that you take part then you take part! You will compete, knight or not, savage." Idris bowed his head.

"Of course your Grace. Torrhen, my ironfur please. Mullendore my sword please." Mullendore rushed away to Idris' chambers and Torrhen followed after him. Idris caught Jonella in the corner of his eye. She looked unhappy, he touched her hand softly as he walked past her towards the far end of the arena.

Torrhen returned first, the ironfur over his shoulder. He helped Idris to put on the armour. The heavy armour fitted well, it had no markings and was made of several interlocking plates. Idris stepped into it and Torrhen brought it up around him and sealed it. The iron hairs hung down around him, whipping in the light wind threateningly. His helm clasped around his head, leaving nothing bare but for the eyes. The helm was shaped like the head of a shadowcat. Lord Idris' emerald green eyes burnt out from behind the snarl. He fastened on his gauntlets last. They, like his boots, were covered in short black spikes and the fingers and thumbs came to deadly, sharpened points. He flexed his hand.

Mullendore handed over a blade that tapered in the middle. It had runes etched into it and the edges of the sword seemed a light blue compared to the dark blue and black of the rest of the blade. A weirwood hilt was marked in red weirwood blood and the pommel held a simple iron disc from the heart of the Ironmountain in it. The herald looked over. Idris swung the blade in his hand quickly before nodding.

"Lord Idris Ironfur and Ser Lothor Brune!" The herald stepped away. Ser Lothor rushed forwards swinging over head. Idris ducked to the right, the sword whooshing overhead harmlessly. A hand reached out and grabbed the overstretched arm and tore at it as Idris spun back to full height moving to face Ser Lothor's back. Ser Lothor cried out in pain. He turned back to Idris.

He stepped forward more cautiously this time. His sword swung forward, Idris made no move to parry. The sword struck the ironfur armour and slipped downwards quickly barely touching the plates beneath the iron hairs. Idris punched out with his sword arm, knocking Ser Lothor backwards. The sword came down and sliced through armour at the already damaged arm and caused a long thin cut that ran the whole length of the arm to appear. Idris danced backwards, readying his blade across him for another attack.

Blood pooled below Ser Lothor. He stood up slowly, grunting in pain. He stepped forwards and screamed out in pain, a trail of blood in his wake. Idris swung his sword in an arc ahead of him. Ser Lothor fell backwards, a gash opened up across his chest as if his armour had not been there. He pushed his sword forward in a last ditch attempt to wound his foe and the sword point got caught in the iron hairs and wrenched from his hands. As his sword clattered to the ground, he lay back groaning in pain.

Idris raised an arm and waved it towards Ser Lothor. Several Ironfur men came out of the crowd and began tending to Ser Lothor's wounds, laying a thick paste of wet clay and ground herbs on the cuts and dressing them. They carried Ser Lothor gently to a bench at the front of the crowd and he lay there unconscious from the pain from the duel. The crowd applauded.

"Lord Ironfur wins the duel." The herald called out. The applause grew louder. Idris looked across the arena, the king looked unhappy. Jonella was clasping a woman in an embrace and a very short man was stood on the raised platform in armour. Idris wandered back to his seat, still wearing his ironfur.

"More savages? There were savages here already?" The short man was speaking to the boy king.

"The Half-man promised us good steel for his life, he has given, so we give back." The woman beside Jonella spoke to her. She had three blackened ears hanging from a cord around her neck. One of the Stormcrows? In King's Landing? What was going on that the mountain clans had left their mountain passes? Idris looked about him, there were members from all of the mountain clans here. The mountain clans didn't approve of the Ironfur very much. The Ironfur had let Andals be their king. Idris looked up. The red star was still burning as it fell. Old magics were awakening, Jonella had said, he shook his head. Hopefully the clansmen wouldn't cause problems, while they may not think much of the Andal rulers, the mountain clans did still respect old blood.

And Ironfur blood was very old indeed.


	8. King of the First Men

Idris and Jonella were sat, side by side, in wicker chairs at the side of the king's court. They had sat in their wicker chairs every court session that week while other courtiers stood for hours. They did not approve. Debtors who could not pay had their flesh removed from their bodies and those who claimed that the king was in debt to them were hanged as traitors to the realm. The peasantry was hungry and disease was rife in the city below the walls of the Red Keep. This boy king ruled cruelly.

"My lord." An Ironfur whispered from behind them, not disturbing the on going discussion that the king was having with a wine merchant about the damage done to his vineyard by thieves. Idris turned to the man, Jonella looking on the events before them with narrowed eyes. She had been angered by the viciousness of the boy for most of the week. "The City Guard have sealed the city gates. They bar entry for peasantry." Jonella's head whipped around. The man stepped back from her glare. Idris touched a hand to her arm.

The wine merchant turned an walked away, he had been pledged justice. No doubt the king was already imagining the pains he could cause the thieves. Had the thieves stolen at the Ironmountain then it would be losing their hand or taking the black, not some torture. Idris stood.

"Your Grace, I have a matter for discussion." The boy king looked over. He seemed disappointed, he knew that with highborns he had to behave slightly better.

"You stand?" he spoke with mock surprise. "From here I thought you were condemned to your chair, Lord Ironfur of the wicker seats." Idris bowed his head.

"Not all of us are so strong as to be capable of climbing so many steps before reaching our seat, your Grace." Idris spoke softly but amusement danced upon his voice and carried through the court, silencing murmurs of 'Lord of wicker seats'.

The boy grew impatient. "Well, you said you had a matter to discuss. Hurry up." His hand clenched about the pommel of a sword in his throne. He shuffled slightly in his seat.

"I've been informed that the City Guard have sealed the city gates." He paused. Whispers sprang up about the room. "Surely your Grace did not mean to imprison the court here?" The whispers grew into a rumbling.

"I didn't order this." The boy king stated. "Hound, bring me the commander of the guard. I'll have his head, trying to imprison me and my court!"

Idris rolled his eyes. "Have his head, your Grace? Surely it would be wiser to question him. Perhaps you would send a message to the captains of the City Guard to reopen the gates and you would permit me to interrogate the Commander. Then, of course, I would return him to you, traitors of course should die and any man who would imprison the king's own court must be a traitor. Wouldn't you agree?"

The boy was already nodding to himself. "You would interrogate him? Your savage ways may just be useful, yes." Jonella was looking at Idris with a slight frown. "Lord Ironfur, the commander of the City Guard is to be interrogated by you and if you should fail to bring me a confession... I suppose my uncle's pet savages shall have their turn."

"Of course your Grace." Idris turned and walked back to his seat. The Hound returned with Lord Janos Slynt in his grip. He threw the Commander forward onto his knees. Four Ironfur guards seized him by his ankles and wrists and carried him from the court room, screaming about tricksters.

The week ended soon after and with the week's end came a letter. Grand Maester Pycelle sent the letter to Idris and Jonella's rooms. It came while Idris was washing his wife and bath of hot water. She preferred the sting of hot water against her skin and the touch of her husband and lover over that of the handmaidens provided to her for her stay. When they finally came to the matter of the letter later that evening they found it sealed by a wax stamp of a stag kicking in fury wrapped in a flaming heart. The word 'Ironfur' was written along the outside of the rolled up letter in a thick blue ink and elegant handwriting. They cracked the seal and read the letter within.

 _'All men know me for the trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by his lady wife Cassana of House Estermont. I declare upon the honour of my House that my brother Robert, our late king, left no trueborn issue of his body, the boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Ser Jaime the Kingslayer. By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty. Done in the light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.'_

Idris turned to Jonella. "It would seem that there are two usurpers to defend against now." She nodded silently.

"If he tells the truth?"

"It is still two usurpers, which two they are matters little. I'll come up with something to say to Stannis. We can judge his kingliness ourselves. King of the First Men, it is more than just an inheritance."

"We must do our duty." Idris smiled at her and kissed her gently.

"Let us forget duty and kings tonight." He rubbed her swollen belly before raising a hand to her breasts, already becoming larger in preparation for the coming birth. Jonella's reply was between a whimper and a whisper.

"Let us."


	9. Too Much Else to Pray For

"Release him." Her voice was cold as the gold that sat in her family's great vaults.

"The king ordered that we draw out a confession from him." A scream sang out into the corridor. Blood already stained the floor and walls of the corridor, a severely injured man had been dragged through the doorway. Cersei, Queen Mother, stood before Idris, she was slightly taller than him and her face was twisted with anger.

"How dare you! How dare a filthy bastard like you refuse me!" She grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "Release him now, or you will face my anger. The king will hear that you have denied me."

Idris bowed. "Then the king is free to tell me to release Lord Slynt. Until then..." Idris waved a hand to the stairs leading out of the dungeons. Another scream played against the rough stone walls. Cersei glared at him before turning about and storming up the stairs. Idris entered the door to the next room. Lord Slynt was above a stone table, chained to each of the four walls and not quite touching the top of the stone table. Tears ran down his face and blood dripped from his palms and the soles of his feet.

"The question is simple. Answer it and you'll go free. Who ordered the sealing of the city." Lord Slynt sobbed.

"Please let me go. Please, please, please..." The interrogator shook his head. A whip came down onto Lord Slynt's bare thigh. Another scream. A series of red lines marred the man's skin in many places. Idris walked forwards so that Lord Slynt could see him.

"Hello." Idris grinned. "Have you been a good boy?" Lord Slynt nodded, still crying. "My friend says you haven't. Why don't you want to answer his question?"

"Please." He sobbed out. Idris slapped him.

"No. Answer it."

Lord Slynt scrunched up his face. "The queen." His words stumbled out like the words of a drunken fool. Idris nodded and Lord Slynt's weary body slapped onto the stone below. He continued to weep as he curled into a ball.

"Put him in clothes and irons. He has a trip to court." The interrogator nodded and left the room. Idris looked down at the broken man before him and left as well. He met with the interrogator and Lord Slynt at the doors to the courtroom. The doors were opened and the boy king sat in his Iron Throne. "Your Grace! Lord Slynt would like to confess." Lord Slynt nodded and mumbled incoherently as he was dragged forwards to the steps of the Iron Throne.

"Well then. What do you have to say Lord Slynt? Who ordered my court be imprisoned?"

"Queen. Queen. Queen." He repeated the word like a prayer, sobs coming out every so often.

"Lies!" Cersei was sat in a seat to the side of her son. "Clearly his mind has been broken to harshly, he doesn't know what he's being asked. He should be killed now the fool, daring to blame the Queen Mother!" The boy king looked at her in surprise at her outrage.

"Yes, yes. Lord Ironfur..." Idris nodded, drew a knife and thrust it through the back of the snivelling man's neck. The Queen Mother whispered into her son's ear but he waved his hand at her, whispering back. Idris left the courtroom several hours later as the court session ended. He felt the Queen's stare on him for the whole session. Lord Slynt had been a broken man, yes, but he knew what he was asked that was certain. The Queen hadn't actually imprisoned the court but the king thought that that was the purpose of sealing the city, thus she was afraid to be discovered. The matter didn't require that she be revealed, the city had already been opened once more.

That night Idris climbed into bed with his wife. They had spent the evening in the Godswood. There was no weirwood and the heart tree there had no face but it was still peaceful, still quiet and as a rarity for the busy castle and especially the bustling city, it still smelt of the forest. The Godswood at the Red Keep hadn't been taken there, the trees were not the saplings of some distant forest but rather the Godswood had been left as it was, elsewhere the Kingswood was cut for space to build a castle and city, here it remained, the trees here descendants of the trees that Aegon himself would have seen from atop his dragon. That evening Lady Stark had come to the Godswood while they were there.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you." She had turned to leave when she saw them curled up together amongst some wildflowers near to the heart tree.

"Don't be foolish Lady Sansa, you disturb us no more than we disturb ourselves. There is space enough for us all to speak with the gods." Jonella had called her back. Lady Sansa had looked at them suspiciously before kneeling before the heart tree. She whispered to the heart tree, looking over at them occasionally. Idris rolled his eyes, if she was worried about them overhearing her prayers she needn't be. They were capable of discretion of course.

"If you said your prayers more loudly then perhaps the Gods, who here are faceless, might answer you through the faces that are here." Idris stood up and walked over to be beside her before kneeling down as she had. "Oh Gods without name, Gods beyond count, Gods of sea and storm, of river and lake, of mountain and vale, of sky and forest and fields green and brown and gold, gift me with strength of will and arm, gift me with wise children and bless me with many more nights in the arms of my wife and lover."

Jonella giggled from the flowers. "You are so very blessed." She crawled on her knees to them and wrapped Idris in her arms. She kissed him softly. "Oh ancient Gods of the Children and of the First Men, oh Gods of summer and spring. Gift me with the wit and wisdom, gift me with humility and patience, bless me with many more nights in the arms of my husband and lover." Lady Sansa's cheeks burnt red as Idris turned around in Jonella's embrace and kissed her gently on the lips.

They both looked at Lady Sansa. She looked about her. She closed her eyes and looked at the heart tree, her body stilled. Her words were louder than the whisper they had been but only enough so that Idris and Jonella could hear. "You won't tell anyone?" They nodded and even with her closed eyes it seemed to give her some confidence. "Oh Gods of my father and of his father before him. Protect my family, give Robb bravery and victory. Care for Bran and Rickon, all alone in Winterfell. Guide Arya to safety and home. Watch over Jon as he watches from his wall." Tears ran down her face. "I was so cruel to him, for being a bastard. And Arya for being unladylike." She shook her head, the tears landing on her dress.

"Won't you pray for yourself, Lady Sansa?" She stood up and began to leave the Godswood. Her face was already freezing back into the polite mask it usually was. The Daughter of Winter. Idris silently bemoaned the loss of the young girl that had knelt beside them. The question of who deserved to be King of the First Men leapt into his mind as it had been doing regularly since Stannis' letter arrived.

"I have too much else to pray for."


	10. Cold Winds Are Rising

"Lord Ironfur!" Grand Maester Pycelle called out in a wheezy voice. "A raven for you." He hobbled over slowly. Idris looked him over. He was breathing heavily and he was red-faced. His movements were shaky. But he didn't seem to be very tired. Perhaps he was ill. Idris's lord father hadn't show such symptoms as he grew old but it was possible that Andals aged differently. Pycelle had been proud to explain that he was a common boy born in Lannisport and that his family had been devout Westermen for a very long time. Of course now Grand Maester Pycelle was only loyal to the crown. Idris rolled his eyes at the thought.

"Thank you Grand Maester." Three seals adorned the rolled letter. In the center there was a wax seal bearing the markings of Castle Black, then above it was a wax seal bearing the markings of House Ironfur and the same at the bottom end of the roll. The name Ironfur was written in print letter down the other side of the roll. It was customary to seal a letter again when re-sending it to show where the letter had first arrived. To seal it twice meant that the contents had been read by the maester at the Ironmountain and that the contents were important. Idris bowed slightly. "I'm sure you have much work to do, I'll let you go Grand Maester." He turned and rushed back to his chambers.

Jonella was there with Lady Sansa. She had come to enjoy spending time with Jonella. Jonella had never been much of a sewing woman but she was too far into her pregnancy to take part in the training that she was more used to. It amused Idris to see her, swollen bellied and sat on the floor sewing iron thread into a handkerchief beside Lady Sansa. He glanced down at their work as he sat behind Jonella wrapping her in his arms. Jonella was depicting an old scene written in one of the old runes of the great hall at the Ironmountain.

It was the story of one of earlier Lord Ironfurs. House Ironfur had ruled since over ten thousand years, they had withstood the Long Night, the Andals and the Targaryens. The family had begun with Lord Gwyn Ironfur, the Ironfur. It was said his very skin had been iron and that he fought bare chested, the hairs on his chest protecting him from even the best archers. Whether that was true or not was unknown. The story Jonella was sewing was the story of the Pact. An Ironfur had planted a weirwood seed on the Isle of Faces and he had watered it with his own blood, each day for a moon. The other First Men there had done the same, as had the greenseers. A pact bound by blood was very serious.

Lady Sansa was sewing with her own threads. It looked like she was sewing a castle, to an untrained eye it may have been just any castle. It had grey stone walls and towers and it sat in a simple field. But it was closer in style to the old ringcastles of the Northmen than any of the southern castles. Idris smiled gently, when she had first sewn with Jonella she had been very hesitant and had sewn in silence only ever sewing flowers and occasionally her name. Now even with his presence she was chattering away softly with Jonella. He had no idea what they were talking about, he had arrived partway through the conversation.

Idris stood back up, his legs complaining at having to bear his weight again when they had been so comfortable before. He drew a knife and heated it in the hearth for a short while. Then he cut through the wax seals with the hot knife. He put the knife down on the desk nearby. Jonella and Lady Sansa were looking at him, curious about the letter. "Castle Black." Lady Sansa took on a worried look. "You may stay Lady Sansa, I haven't any private business with the Night's Watch, I'm sure news will be welcome." She nodded.

 _'To the Lord Ironfur of the Ironmountain,_  
 _The Night's Watch have known the Ironfurs as friends for many thousands of years, for many hundreds of Lord Commanders. I ask you send more men, a wall is only as good as the men who man it. Cold winds are rising and the dead rise with them. One such wight came upon me in the night and sought to kill me. It was dead for weeks but had not rotted nor did it make any smell. It stood up like a man and fought wildly. Its eyes were a bright blue. Fire put an end to this one. But the dead are coming. I pray that brave men are coming too._

 _Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of the Night's Watch.'_

Idris and Jonella looked at one another. "Old magics are awakening." Lady Sansa looked at them incredulously.

"You believe this? That the dead are coming back to life? It's just one of Old Nan's stories to scare children." Lady Sansa looked between them.

"I believe that if the Lord Commander says that a dead man tried to kill him in his sleep, then a dead man tried to kill him in his sleep. You saw that star fall from the sky didn't you, on the King's nameday. It burnt the red of weirwood blood. Old magics are awakening." Idris replied to her, his voice grave and serious.

"Jon's on the wall." Lady Sansa sounded afraid.

Jonella pulled Lady Sansa into her side, despite only being three years older Lady Sansa seemed to take some comfort in Jonella's protection. "I'll write to the Lord Commander, and to Karl. We'll send some of the Ironmountain garrison north, and all the prisoners there too. But I expect Karl will only be willing to take a few dozen men with him. There's a war going on and the Northmen fought a battle in the Golden Tooth not too long ago."

"If old magic is awakening then we need to muster all we can to our side, it can't just be the White Walkers, surely. Else there's not much we can do against them." Idris nodded to Jonella.

"What magics are there in Westeros? The Children haven't been seen for thousands of years, there hasn't been a water witch born amongst the Orphans of the Greenblood since a century after the Rhoynar made land in Dorne and the Northmen have no greenseers. They haven't for a very long time. The Valyrians had magic and dragons but they died in the doom and the rest have died since. The only other people of real magic are the shadowbinders of Asshai." Jonella shook her head and stepped closer. Lady Sansa was sat in the seat at the desk near to them.

"Forget when they went to sleep, we don't need worry about how long it has been since the last greenseers and water witches and dragons. If they're waking up then we just need to find them. The Gods sent us a warning. They want us to do this, to find their children wherever they are."

Idris closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The Ironfur certainly didn't have the men to scour Westeros hunting for witches. Perhaps on the way north Karl could row out to the Isle of Faces and seek out the Children and perhaps as he rode through the Neck and the North he could ask around for Greenseers. But still... it was like shooting an arrow in the dark, without even knowing if the target had been made yet. "We have to stay here to fight off the two other Baratheons, or we'll be branded traitors to the realm and executed, if I send Lord Yorwick to Dorne with five men, that won't be noticed by the King, I'm sure. Then Torrhen could ride with five men to... wherever he thinks he'll find Greenseers and Children."

Jonella nodded. "That'll have to do for now." She kissed him on the lips, at first softly but quickly it grew more passionate. They had refrained from their usual night-time activities on account of her pregnancy. Idris moaned into her mouth. A noise came from behind Jonella. Lady Sansa was still there. Idris stepped back blushing. He cleared his throat.

"I'll let you get back to your sewing. I'm sorry there was no good news, my Lady." Idris bowed his head and left to find Lord Yorwick and Torrhen.


	11. Into the Storm's Eye

Lord Yorwick had been easy to find, he was resting in his chambers. He dressed himself quickly in his riding clothes before wrapping a golden cloak around him. It bore the black needle and thread of his house upon it. "You want me to ride south , my Lord? The armies of the Stormlands and the Reach are between us and Dorne." Idris nodded.

"Yes, you'll have to ride and sleep rough to avoid them. I have heard that they have a fondness for tourneys. Should you have the need, you could fight in some tourney or other, Renly is having one every other day it seems. Then when the tourney finishes and they ride north again for their next tourney at some backwater inn you go south. It shouldn't delay your ride too much." Lord Yorwick sat down and thought about the proposition.

"The Orphans won't just give up water witches, even if they do exist. We look too much like Stone Dornish. They've fought and butchered the Salt Dornish since the Princess Nymeria married the Martells." Idris paced in front of the seated lord.

"You'll have to prove that you are more than you look. Become Orphans for as long as you are there. Live on the Greenblood, adopt their ways. You will be the Rhoynar, children of Mother Rhoyne. We aren't kidnapping the water witches, just inviting them. They have the right to refuse." Idris sighed. "But dark times are coming. It will be worse for them than even the burning of Chroyane. If we lose the war against the dead..." He shook his head. "It will be more than warped towers and melted palaces. They can't sail away this time. Their Mother died in dragons flame. It is the duty of men, not Gods, to fight this war. It is the duty of the Rhoynar who have come here to Westeros, just as it is the duty of the First Men."

"Should we make appeals to the Stone Dornish then? Perhaps as we pass through the Boneway we can ask for the Yronwoods to send men north." Idris stopped pacing and looked at Lord Yorwick.

"They likely got a message from the Wall just as we did. If they didn't listen to the Lord Commander, why would they listen to us?" Idris sat down on the floor of the room, he began plucking fluff from the floor. "You Flaxes were merchants and traders, and you know your craft. Better than I do. Perhaps you can persuade the Dornishmen but..." He looked out of the window. "I doubt they'll listen. The Bloodroyals didn't sign the Pact. Nor did they fight in the last war for the Dawn. They sat in their deserts and danced in the sun. It's said that the Dornish could see the eternal darkness whenever they looked north." Idris dropped a fist to the ground.

"I'll ride at once my Lord. The Rhoynar remember what it means to face the end of their people. If there are water witches to be found. They'll come with us." Idris looked up at Lord Yorwick.

"Excellent. I'll await your return. Ride safely." Lord Yorwick Flaxe rode south that evening with five Ironfur riders, they bore no banners or colours and carried no supplies. They would live off the land and the generosity of the people until they reached the Boneway. The only things that would reveal their identities and loyalties were the heavy ironfurs that rested behind them on their horses.

Torrhen had been simple to persuade. He believed in the old magics of the greenseers, when he was told of the direwolf pups of the Starks he was certain that it would be an easy mission to discover the hiding places of the Children. He said he would ride first to the Stormlands and would search the forests there since the magics defending Storm's End were forged into the walls of the castle by the Children. Then he would go to the Ring in the Reach, a grove of sixty weirwood trees that formed two rings of trees, one facing in and one facing out. He would then begin to ride north. He would visit Heart's Home in the Riverlands, where the Andals had set a weirwood grove inhabited by Children alight. The stories claimed that the Children had fought a great battle against the Andals there and that some Children still lived there, killing travelling Andal merchants in the night.

He too had ridden south with five unmarked riders. Idris had begun to write his letter to Karl Merk, the Captain of the Guard of the Ironmountain. He would take three dozen fighters north and escort the score of prisoners to the wall. The prisoners would take the black and the Ironfur fighters would be garrisoned there until the dead had been defeated, or the far worse alternative. He would also row out to the Isle of Faces as he passed, make an appeal to the Green Men. If any still lived.

There was a knock on the door. "Who is it?" Idris called through the door.

"Lady Sansa." Came a quiet reply. Idris stood up and went to the light pinewood door. He opened it and Lady Sansa was stood outside, a young woman behind her to one side. She looked eastern, certainly foreign.

"Lady Sansa, how can I help?" She looked behind him.

"Is Lady Jonella here?" Idris shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, she may be in the library though. I can find her if you'd like?"

"No, thank you my lord." She paused and looked about to turn around and leave before she spoke. "Can I come in please?"

"Of course, of course. Is this your handmaiden? We could have some dinner if you'd like."

"I've already eaten with the Queen, my Lord." She bowed her head.

"Queen Mother, my Lady." She looked up in surprise. It wasn't often that Cersei was referred to as anything less than Queen. Lady Sansa sat down in a seat at the table anyway. The foreign woman stepping into the room after her. Idris looked curiously between the two. The young woman exhaled pure confidence but Lady Sansa was wringing her hands. She had always been more comfortable with Jonella.

"I have a new handmaiden. But she doesn't know how to be a handmaiden." Idris nodded.

"What might be your name?"

"I am Shae M'lord." She curtsied badly. Idris wasn't familiar with the duties of handmaidens, Jonella had never had a handmaiden. Due to her background she had always done such tasks herself or Idris had helped her, more so during her pregnancy.

"I must admit, I don't know the tasks that handmaidens are required to do myself. At the Ironmountain we don't usually have such a position. My mother always did everything herself, Lady Jonella has done much the same."

"I've told her what to do but she doesn't know when to do them, what's appropriate and what isn't, she claims that she's been a handmaiden before but..." The foreign girl frowned.

"I see. Who did you serve before?"

"Lady Zuring. M'lord."

"Where was that?"

"In Lorath m'lord." Idris nodded.

"It would seem you simply need to teach her how to do it your way Lady Sansa. Surely it will be same as when you taught your Andal handmaiden to cater for your Northern tastes."

"I didn't my Lord. She did my hair the southern way. And she did her work as a southern handmaiden. My Grandmother didn't have a handmaiden either. I only know how my mother did it. And how the Queen does it. Queen Mother I mean." Idris leant back against a desk and pondered.

"Then together you will have to come to a balance. You can't very well throw out Miss Shae here if she has been sent to you. And you shouldn't suffer poor service either." He looked at them both. "Work together to find the best situation for you both. If it should be impossible then..." He paused. "You are not without friends Lady Sansa. Lady Jonella will be glad to help you. Whether it is teaching Miss Shae her duties or doing them herself. Or making me do them." He smiled softly at her. Her lips turned up at the corners as well.

Lady Sansa stood up. "Thank you for the advice Lord Idris." She came closer and embraced him. She curtsied and rushed from the room. Idris chuckling behind her.

Idris sat back down and returned to writing his letter, watching the timing candles eagerly awaiting Jonella's return to their chambers. He had a wicked idea for her to enjoy tonight.


	12. Welcome to Dorne

Cheering sounded from the far side of the thicket of trees. Through the gaps between the trees it was easy to see the raised seating which ran around the edge of the tourney ground. They had stopped at the crossroads here for a tourney and Yorwick was growing impatient, the men had no way south except for through here, at least a path that didn't include climbing the mountains. He was reluctant to climb unfamiliar mountains without a guide. He sized up his men. "Lord Flaxe, we shouldn't stay still too long, the tourney won't have stolen away all of the scouts, Lord Tarly is in this army after all." Yorwick nodded his head, Brandon was an experienced warrior, he had fought in the King Robert's Rebellion.

"We'll walk the horses around to the north again. What do you think of just walking into the camp and seeing how far we get?" Brandon looked out of the trees.

"We've gotten within a stone's throw of their King. I don't think they'll pay much attention to some extra men wandering about camp. But we'll need a pretext in case someone recognises these." He gestured to his ironfur. Lord Flaxe stood up and gripped his horse's reins.

"We're merchants, the iron of the Ironmountain is the best in Westeros. We're going to sell these in Dorne." Brandon stood and went to his horse. The four other Ironfur riders followed suit and began to lead their horses round to the road north of the camping army. There were no guards at the road as they entered the camp. They had no palisade defending it either. Brandon grunted. He disapproved.

They passed Florent banners, Tyrell banners and Rosegold banners. Clearly the Reachmen were supposed to be the first line of defence. The tents were empty. Loud shouting came from ahead. As Yorwick looked around he noticed that there were no Hightower banners. The Tarly banners were surrounded by armoured men guarding the entrance of the camp from the Rainwood to the east but the Hightowers were nowhere to be seen. Were they late? Or had they not followed the Tyrells in their support of Renly?

The crowd of excited soldiers was between them and the southern road. They tried to press through the barrier of men. "Hey! Stop pushing!" A man beside Yorwick grabbed him. Brandon drew his blade. Yorwick glanced back at him and put out a hand.

"We're trying to get through. We're traders, going to Dorne."

"Then you can wait. The tourney isn't over." He spat at Brandon. "Put your sword away. You don't want to cut yourself old man." Brandon stepped forward. He growled softly. The man stepped back in surprise, bumping into others. The rest of the Ironfurs had drawn their blades and were stood around Yorwick. He sighed and drew a shortsword. It was simple. A steel blade in a wooden hilt with black leather wrapped around the hilt.

The sounds of cheering had been silenced. Even the tourney was quiet now. Renly Baratheon was stood on the raised platform looking towards the disturbance. He walked down the steps, various knights formed a ring around him. "What is going on?"

"I am Lord Yorwick Flaxe, your Grace. I'm travelling to Dorne and my friend here took offense at the behaviour of one of your men. If we could pass through we would be very grateful." Renly Baratheon looked down slightly at him. He seemed thoughtful. A smile grew across his face.

"Of course. But we are having a tourney. Your friend should compete. Do you think he will win the next duel? There is a handsome reward for the winner. They may ask of me one thing, and I shall grant it, should I be able to. What do you say Ser...?"

"I'm no Ser." Brandon gritted his teeth. He looked warily about the men around him, his sword still raised. Renly laughed.

"Compete." He turned around and climbed the platform. He looked over at them expectantly. Yorwick sighed and pushed Brandon forwards.

"Win, lose. It doesn't matter. Get out of here alive Brandon." Brandon just grinned back. He swung his sword in his hand.

"Lord Willas Rosegold and the brute in the service of Lord Flaxe." A man dressed in bright colours leapt backwards leaving a sandy circular space behind. Lord Willas was blonde haired and bore a longsword. Brandon had stitched a frown onto his face.

He took up a stance. Brandon stood still, his sword hanging limp at his side. Lord Willas looked at him in confusion. Then he rushed forwards bring his sword down from above. Brandon rolled to a side and swung up at where he had been. His blade planted itself firmly in Lord Willas' thigh. The crowd roared in anger as Lord Willas collapsed, blood pooling from his torn arteries.

"You killed a lord." Renly spoke quickly.

"I did. He swung a sword at me."

"This is a tourney."

"Don't be a fool. You're at war. All of you!" He roared out. "Men die everyday. You're marching along this road to battle. You think none of you are going to die! You think Lords are any safer than the common man." He laughed. "This is no tourney. This is practice. If you don't want to get hurt while you practice, then use sparring blades." Brandon turned and spat on the ground before striding across the arena towards the southern exit of the camp.

"You were promised a prize." Brandon stopped and looked back at Renly.

"Aye, I was."

"What do you request?"

"A long happy life. Can you give me that?" Brandon turned back around and continued walking. Renly laughed behind him. A small sack of gold was brought to Yorwick.

"For your man. Enough gold for a happy few years at least." Yorwick bowed. He and the four other riders rushed after Brandon. They caught up to him at the exit, his horse was being lead by one of the other men.

"Do you want us dead?" Yorwick grabbed Brandon by his arm and pulled him closer. "Behave yourself."

"They're boys off to war. Boys of thirty years and more. Those knights are the knights of dancing halls and feasts. Not knights of war. They should learn their lesson."

"You should learn your lesson. If this had been in King's Landing do you think King Joffrey would just let you off with killing a Lord, even as part of a tourney."

"We aren't in King's Landing." Brandon put one foot back and put both arms out to the side as he bowed mockingly low, his nose nearly touching the floor. "My Lord." He mounted his horse and waved an arm to the Stoneway before them.

"Welcome to Dorne."


	13. Knights of The Night's Watch

The raven had arrived shortly before dawn. It bore Lord Ironfur's personal seal, shadowcat leaping before a mountain with a knotted design around the edge of the wax seal. Maester Omaro, a short bastard born to a Dornish whore in Oldtown, had brought the letter to Karl as soon as it had arrived. The letter outlined a series of instructions. Karl was to take three dozen men from the garrison and offer the two score prisoners at the Ironmountain the choice of taking the black or losing their head. Those who were to take the black would be sewn riding armour made of black dyed iron thread and then escorted to Castle Black. On the way Karl was instructed to row out from Harrenhal into the Gods Eye and treat with the Green Men.

Karl shook his head. No man had been to that island for millenia. Not since the Pact. He climbed down the mountainside to one of the barracks near to the main gate. Here there were housed fifty of the castle guard. Only four of the barracks had men in and only this one was full. He looked around the room. Ten of the beds were empty. They were likely on guard duty. He rang the bell just on the inside of the doorway. The sleeping guards woke quickly.

"Lord Ironfur has sent a raven, he commands that I take three dozen of you and escort the prisoners to the Wall. Those who ride north will then garrison the Wall until such a time as we are summoned back." Karl began to walk down the barracks. "It's four months ride to Castle Black in Summer. And Autumn is here. There is a war between us and the Night's Watch. There will be no warm beds for those who ride with me. Choose amongst yourself who is coming. We ride tomorrow morning." He turned to leave.

"Captain! Will Lord Ironfur meet us on the road north?"

"No. He has been ordered to defend King's Landing. He may ride north to bring the men with him to garrison the Wall as well once the threat there is defeated. I do not know all of Lord Ironfur's plans." Karl then left. He entered an old mineshaft where the vein had been exhausted. He began his descent into the Ironmountain.

These tunnels were seperate from the great caverns of the keep but in someplaces the walls between the two networks of tunnels were on a few feet thick. There were several other tunnel systems with different purposes also weaving through the stone.

Karl came to a heavy dark oak door. There were four men in their ironfurs stood outside the door. They turned two large wheels set into the side of the tunnel's walls. The doors opened slowly. When he entered the cavern behind the doors, they shut behind him. The room was silent and darker than any night. The floor beneath his feet was a maze of thin stone bridges that ran over a large drop. In the dark it would be impossible to move through the cavern without falling into death's embrace.

Karl reached out to the wall behind him. There was torch in a bracket on the wall. He took the torch and struck it hard against the wall. After the second strike, it lit. He navigated the stone bridges carefully, eventually reaching an iron cage hanging over nothingness. The chains that held it to the ceiling went into the darkness above where his torch could not light them. The cage was also fixed to the bridge that he stood on by two large hooks. There was a wooden board in a box near to the cage.

In the torchlight it was clear that there was a man in the cage. "Can you hear me?" Karl called out. The man crawled in his cage to the door. He nodded. "I've come with a choice. You can take the black or I shall take your head." The man looked up at him. He pulled himself up.

"The food at the Wall." He laughed quietly. "Do you think it'll be worse than the chicken stew we get here?" He stepped away from the doors. "I'll take the black. I like my head where it is." Karl nodded in reply.

"I shall order the guards to bring you out to the armory. See if we can't find you some riding armour." Karl had the same conversation forty times. The Night's Watch had twenty four new recruits. Of the other sixteen most had faced their death with honour and dignity. Only one had begged for mercy. They had struck him over the head before taking him out into the courtyard. Criminals faced death, not torture. Torture was only used rarely, for matters of importance. It was an issue some of their Northman brethren didn't agree with. Most notably the Boltons, Red Kings of the Dreadfort, had been rather enthusiastic about torture.

The next morning the Night's Watch recruits were mounted and dressed in black riding armour, they still wore ordinary furs over the top of their armour. The Ironfur riders rode in formation around the recruits, all of whom had been made to swear before the ancient weirwood tree, which was rumoured to have stood since before even the Ironmountain, that they would not attempt to escape their new duty.

Karl passed through the gates and rode down the mountain, his small army riding behind him. They began their long trek along the unpaved river roads that lead to the Ruins of Harrenhal. In some places the roads were flooded with water and the mud trapped their horses' hooves. Eventually they reached drier roads and left the Westerlands in the shadow of the Golden Tooth.

The Ruins of Harrenhal awaited them and the Isle of Faces awaited him.


	14. Kings of Winter

Stark banners. Karl looked down on the column of men, They numbered into the thousands. When they had heard the approaching army Karl ordered the riders up into the hills to the south of the mud-laden roads that they were riding along. The Ironfur banners that they had with them were wrapped up and stored away. He had put on his heavy ironfurs and so had most of his men. The Night's Watch recruits weren't given ironfurs when they left so were left with only light riding armour.

Hooves beat against the hillside to the east. Karl turned to look to towards the sound barely in time to catch a glimpse of the Northmen outriders coming over the ridge of a hill nearby. They rode across to the group, a Stark direwolf emblazoned on their uniforms. "Who are you?" The leader of the outriders called out.

"I'm Karl, these are my men and we're escorting prisoners to Castle Black. To join the Watch." He motioned towards the men arranged loosely behind him. The leader of the outriders put out a gloved hand.

"I'm Jon of Hornwood. Ride down with us, King Robb will make camp soon, there'll be warm food and warm women. Brothers of the Watch are brothers of the North." Karl looked at his men. They seemed eager at the prospect of warm food, as for women, he knew the majority of his men were married some of their wives were here riding alongside them with their own swords hanging at their sides. He would have to make sure the Night's Watch recruits didn't indulge in the whores that followed the army, it wouldn't do for them to forget their oaths.

"Of course, warm food will be welcome. And I'm sure the brothers of the Watch will remember that warm women is not a luxury they are to be afforded." He raised his vice slightly at the end to be sure they all heard. There was some nodding amongst the group. As they rode down from the hills, Jon and his outriders regaled them with stories of the war so far. They had won the battle of the Whispering Wood and had just finished scattering the Lannister forces that had besieged Riverrun.

When they came to the foot of the hill, the camp of the Northmen had already been started. They rode through the camp before coming to some pavilions in the centre of the encampment. They all dismounted and Jon led them into the largest of the pavilions. The was a long table in it and at one end were a set of maps sprawled across the table. A huge direwolf lay at that end of the table and a man with a crown made of tiny iron swords on a ring of bronze stood discussing with a much larger man with only two fingers and a thumb on one hand.

"Your Grace! Night's Watch recruits on their way north, and their escort." They both looked up. The direwolf met Karl's eyes. He felt an odd feeling wash over him. The tent flaps behind him blew open in a sudden gust of wind.

The king approached. He was slightly taller than Karl. The people of the Ironmountain were known to be shorter than other First Men but still taller than the Crannogmen. "And who might you be?"

"Karl Merk your Grace." Karl bowed. The direwolf growled. Both Karl and the king looked at the direwolf. The king looked back, an eyebrow raised. In amusement or perhaps in question it wasn't entirely clear to Karl.

"Where are you all from?" He looked around at the men in their thick and heavy ironfurs, reflecting torchlight into patterns on the walls of the pavilion and at the recruits in black riding armours.

"We ride from the Ironmountain. Lord Ironfur commands that we do our best to garrison the Wall." Karl looked directly into the king's eyes. "While others are too busy slaughtering each other in fields to defend it." The king's eyes took on a hard look. "Cold winds are rising. That's what the Lord Commander says. Did he forget to write to the King in the North? Surely the Kings of Winter were always the Night's Watch's closest ally." A booming laugh came from the far end of the table.

"You've got some courage boy!" The large man laughed again. He began to walk to them. The king looked between the man and Karl in confusion.

"Speaking to the King like that and riding soldiers from Lannister lands into the very centre of a camp of Northmen." The King stepped back reaching for his sword. Karl's men stood still, their blades sheathed, they were disciplined and it was clear that being a threat was unwise in the current situation.

"I speak how I speak. If it offends your Grace, then it does. I have told only the truth. As for being Lannister men, you're mistaken my Lord. We are Ironfur men. The Lord Ironfur sends us to the Wall. Not the Lord Lannister. We are the blood of the First Men, are we welcome to sleep the night in your camp of Northmen or shall we continue to ride past?"

The king sighed. "No harm shall come to you, if you bring no harm to any of us. You may not send ravens while you're here. Lord Umber, find them somewhere to pitch their tents." The direwolf stood up walked to its king. It lay down again, resting his muzzle in the king's hand. He stroked the direwolf absently.

"Come along then boy. Let's find you somewhere dry before you have to pitch your tents in a stream." Lord Umber laughed his booming laugh again.


	15. Meeting the Littlest Lion

The boy king stood on his throne, a crossbow aimed at Lady Sansa. Jonella and two Ironfur guards had left to find the hand, or the Queen Mother, the situation was quickly on the way out of control. "You're here to answer for your brother's treasons." He called down to Lady Sansa.

"Your Grace, whatever my traitor brother has done. I had no part in it. You know that, please."

"Ser Lancel, tell us of this outrage!"

A man in crimson dress robes stepped forwards. "Your brother, using some vile sorcery, fell on Stafford Lannister with an army of wolves. Thousands of good men were butchered." Murmurs ran through the court. "After the slaughter the Northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain!" Idris chuckled from his wicker seat. Many of courtiers around him looked down at him in disgust.

"Killing you would send your brother a message." The boy king still aimed his crossbow at Lady Sansa. Idris rose, the two Ironfur guards who hadn't gone with Jonella stepped forwards. Ser Dontos took out a watermelon and brought it down on Lady Sansa's head. He laughed, the court laughed also. The king wasn't so amused. "We'll have to send a message some other way. Ser Boros. Leave her face, I like her pretty."

A man in golden armour descended the steps beside the iron throne and came to Lady Sansa. His armoured fist struck her in the side of the stomach. He drew his sword and hit the back of her legs with the flat of his sword. She fell to the floor. "Enough!" Idris and his guards walked out of the spectators and Idris grabbed Ser Boros' sword arm. One of the guards helped Lady Sansa to stand. The other had disarmed Ser Boros and had slid the knight's sword to the base of the iron throne.

"She did not ride out to Oxcross. She did not string her brother's bows, nor sharpen his swords. She never killed or injured a single Lannister soldier." He looked around the court. "I am in agreement. Such savagery from the Northmen should not go unanswered. But this is not the answer." The doors at the far end of the great hall swung open and Lord Tyrion entered with Jonella, her guards and Timett, son of Timett, chief of the Burned Men.

"She is to be your queen." Lord Tyrion began to climb the steps of the iron throne. "Have you no respect for her honour?"

"I'm punishing her."

"For what crimes? She did not fight her brother's battle you half-wit!"

"You can't talk to me like that! The King can do as he likes!"

Lord Tyrion climbed higher, such that he was even in height to the boy king. "The Mad King did as he liked. Has your Uncle Jamie ever told you what happened to him?"

Ser Boros struggled against the guards. "No one threatens the King in the presence of the Kingsguard!" He growled out. A fist met the side of his head. A grunted 'Silence' being his only reply. Lord Tyrion ignored him. He climbed back down to Lady Sansa and put out a hand to her. She looked back at Jonella who nodded slightly. Whispers broke out in the crowded hall.

They began to walk out of the Great Hall, Lord Tyrion loosely holding Lady Sansa's hand. "I apologise for my nephew's behaviour." The Ironfur contingent left with them to avoid allowing the king any immediate revenge. "Tell me the truth, do you want an end to this engagement?" Lady Sansa dropped his hand and looked Lord Tyrion in his mismatched eyes. She hesitated, it was obvious, even to Idris who had spent far less time in her company that Jonella had.

"I am loyal to the king, my one true love." She turned to leave them.

"Lady Sansa! I'd be delighted if you would have lunch with us." Jonella spoke to her retreating figure, following slightly. Lady Sansa paused and turned back, tears in her eyes and raised an arm towards Jonella. She slipped under the arm and pulled the younger girl into her side. They walked away whispering.

"Go with them, she them safely to my quarters. I'll be along shortly." Idris turned to the short man and his companion. "I shall not stand for Lady Sansa's continued torment. She is under the protection of House Ironfur. Her blood and our blood is too close." He looked up at the Mountain Clansman. "You'd do well to remember your blood too. It was the Andals who drove you into the Mountains of the Moon." The man grunted. The dwarf looked up quizzically.

"Lord Ironfur. I mean Lady Stark no harm." He opened his arms in a sign of innocence. "I shall do my best to protect her from the king. But she is to be his wife. There is little I can do. I will advise you not to be rash in your actions. You attacked a knight of the Kingsguard today. That won't be forgotten quickly."

"You mean to protect her. Send for educators. She is a child, alone at court. She hasn't had a mentor for nearly a year. The clever survive court far more easily than the foolish." Idris turned and left the littlest lion with much to think about.

As he left he overheard a silken voice. "I've heard Lord Ironfur is steadily becoming a man most dangerous to refuse. Perhaps the king can be enticed away from his betrothed with other women." What had the Spider heard?


	16. Chief Godsblood of the Rainwood Children

Torrhen and his men had ridden in the Rainwood for a month. They had come across no Children, nor even any weirwood trees. Every so often they would catch sight of Storm's End or Durran's Point but other than that they hadn't seen any people. It was quickly becoming clear that there were no greenseers or Children in this forest. They had begun their ride west towards the Ring two days before they reached the edge of the Rainwood.

It was a dark night when they reached the road. Storm's End stood nearby, the castle was only a few hundred metres to their right as they crossed the road that led from King's Landing to Dorne. There was no moon that night and even the stars seemed to shine more dimly than usual. Bells rang out into the still night. Then screams followed shortly after. Torrhen and his men stopped at the side of the road, slowly moving closer to the castle.

A great fire was spiralling higher into the night. The flags flying over the battlements had changed. A stag within a fiery heart now flew in the place of the Baratheon stag of old. The wind whipped up around them. A storm rushed in from the east, it had come suddenly and quickly. The sea itself seemed to have swollen. Still the fire burnt inside the ancient castle's walls. The gates opened.

"Come quick!" A voice called out from the small hill behind them. A small person stood on the summit of the hill, it ducked down over the hilltop and disappeared behind the hill. The force of the storm had made it near impossible to see the castle.

Torrhen called out to his men and began to ride over the crest of the hill. Here the Rainwood continued on this side of the road. Though this part of the Rainwood was far smaller. The small woman led them into through the tree line. Upon entering the woods here the storm was muffled and the horses became calmer. Torrhen looked around as his horse continued to follow the small woman.

They finally came to a stop in a small clearing. A communal fireplace was lit, there were five little wooden houses around it and a tall weirwood tree loomed over one of the far houses. The leaves of many of the other trees had already begun to change colour. The village seemed to be entirely made of small people.

The small woman sat down with others near the fire. She lowered the hood of her robes. Torrhen looked at the small people before noticing their oddities. Their skin was a nut-brown. Very different from the Dornish colouring, even more so than an average Stormlander. Most of them seemed to have paler spots on their skin and their ears were large for their heads. Torrhen raised a fist to stop his men. He drew his sword. The small woman looked up at him in surprise. Torrhen dropped his sword into the grass beside a nearby tree. His men followed his example. The woman had golden eyes that were slitted like a cat's. The rest were now looking at them curiously. One had the same blood red eyes of a weirwood tree. Torrhen approached cautiously. They had been invited, but for what reason.

The small people began to chatter. Their voices weaving together bird songs and the sounds of rustling leaves. He could hear the babbling of brooks and the roaring of a river. They spoke in a tongue so ancient that no man alive knew it. Obsidian blades and clubs rested near to the gathering. The one with weirwood blood red eyes was still watching him as he sat down.

They all only had three fingers and their thumb. A sharp claw rose out of the backs of their hands. The little woman who had brought them offered him a wooden bowl with a stew in it. He accepted it gladly. His men had not been chosen for being good cooks and it had shown over the last moon's meals. The rest of his men had disarmed themselves at the edge of the camp and come to sit down. Torrhen saw the awe and wonder in their eyes.

The Child with red eyes rose and crossed the group to stand in front of Torrhen. He held a single piece of bread and sprinkled some salt onto it. Another bowl held some water. He held them out. Torrhen drank the water and ate the bread keeping eye contact with the small man. He seemed to be their leader. This custom was well known amongst the First Men. It was still used, it guaranteed that neither the giver or the receiver could ever attack the other. It was called guest right in the Seven Kingdoms, Torrhen wondered if he'd ever learn the name of it in the tongue of the Children.

Then he realised that no one could speak their tongue. Could they speak Common? If they couldn't then an issue had arisen already. He raised a hand to his chest. "I am Torrhen." He patted his chest. "Torrhen." Then he put a hand to the Child's chest.

The Child whistled a relaxing tune. Torrhen grinned. He tried to whistle back the same tune. The Child grinned. They spent much of the evening whistling together. The Child teaching Torrhen his name, for he had been able to say Torrhen easily after his third attempt. The tongue of the Children was proving to have many more subtleties than the Common Tongue. Torrhen's men pitched their tents in the little village.

For the next few weeks Torrhen and his men stayed with this clan of Children in the Rainwood. They had even been allowed to keep their weapons in their tents. The Children had been exchanging the teaching of their tongue for the Common Tongue. Torrhen and his men had gone wood dancing with some of the Children. They had brought down a single deer between them, the Children had brought home three. After that they had gone wood dancing once a week. The Children gifted them with obsidian arrows and weirwood bows. Torrhen prayed at the Godswood here both alone and with the chief of this clan.

He had been trying to ask to send a raven to Lord Ironfur. He didn't want to betray their secret of existing without their permission. It was much harder for him to learn their tongue than for them to learn his. "Raven." He spoke pointing to the small black bird perched nearby. A sound not too far from a breeze of the wind came from the chief, who the men had affectionately named Godsblood, on account of his eyes.

Torrhen tried to replicate the sound. From Godsblood's amused expression he had failed miserably. Godsblood took his hand and lead him to the weirwood. Torrhen looked between him and the weirwood quizzically. Suddenly the world was wet. A loud splash echoed through the village as Torrhen frantically paddled himself back to the bank of the stream. He glared at Godsblood.

"Stream." Godsblood pointed at the stream and jumped into it. He produced the same splash. "Stream." The raven from before flew down close to the stream before perching on a tree branch at the far bank. Torrhen's eyes widened in understanding. He closed his eyes trying to remember the sound of the raven's wings as it flew past. When he opened his eyes again, Godsblood's eyes shone with pride.

After that it became much easier to understand the Children's Tongue. Each word came from a sound in the world around them for a reason. The flap of a raven's wings was the word for raven. The splash of a stream was the word for stream. Or perhaps it meant river. They hadn't managed to distinguish between the two yet. It was another two nights before Torrhen had sent a raven to King's Landing. There were Children in the Rainwood. Chief Godsblood of the Rainwood Children had chosen the raven and had marked the parchment with a single rune. Torrhen assumed it was his name.

At the dinner that night the Child woman who had brought them told them why she had. Godsblood had seen them wandering the Rainwood searching for the clan. He had watched them for the whole moon that they were roaming the forest. Then the magic around Storm's End had screamed out in fear. Godsblood had fallen to the ground in pain, as had many of the Children who were more sensitive to the magic around them.

A woman had set the Godswood of Storm's End alight, starting with the ancient weirwood tree. When the tree had died and burnt to ash, so had the protections that the Children had woven into the walls so many thousands of years before. The Gods of Storm and Sea had ruled here despite the Andal faith in other gods for a very long time. They were fuelled by the faith of this clan of Children.

They had forgiven Durran for his marriage to their daughter, despite having doomed her to a mortal life. When Durran was about to die he and Elenei had walked into the sea together and her mother and father had carried them both out into the Narrow Sea, Godsblood assumed they had both been laid to rest in the palace of Queen Elenei's mother.

When the Godswood was set ablaze the pair had sought vengeance and had begun to attack the castle. It was now very badly damaged and many had died in the Gods' assault. The witch who had started the fire had escaped alive and unharmed. Her God of Fire had saved her, battling against both Storm and Sea.

Godsblood had chosen to summon them here, where Children's magic ruled and they could be protected. Their Ironfur banners were known amongst the Greenseers of the Children. Honourable First Men who had signed the Pact many thousands of years ago were much more welcome than the Andals and Eastern Rhilor'i peoples. Godsblood felt that the Pact required that he shelter them. Now that he had befriended Torrhen, and the woman Child who brought them had more than befriended his youngest rider, they were welcome to stay for as long as they liked.

Torrhen now only had to persuade his new friend to leave the village here and bring the clan north. He was certain they would be allowed to live in the Godswood of the Ironmountain under Lord Ironfur's protection.

Their magic would be much needed in the war to come.


	17. Words Are Wind

Without a guide the Stoneway had quickly twisted them into the high goat trails of the Boneway. Wyl Castle stood many miles to the east by the Sea of Dorne while the mountains that parted Dorne from the Reach stood to the west. The goat trails were difficult to travel along, threatening to break the feet of their horses or to crumble beneath them and send them tumbling into oblivion. The Dornish sun made the mountain slopes a desolate place, even at this altitude the air was dry and burning to their skin. At night, however, the mountains became much more like home. They were well used to high places and treacherous mountains, the frozen night was akin to nights at the Ironmountain.

It took half a moon to wind their way down from the mountains but finally they came to the gates of Yronwood, home of House Yronwood, the Bloodroyals. They were Stone Dornish, closer in blood to First Men than most Dornishmen but still resented further North for their history. "Who goes there?" A guard shouted down from the crenelated gatehouse. An Yronwood banner draped down the wall below him.

"Lord Yorwick Flaxe of the Flaxe estates on the slopes of the Ironmountain. These are my men, we are on a mission from Lord Idris Ironfur of the Ironmountain. We seek accommodation on our travel eastwards to Plankytown." Yorwick called back up. The men unfurled an Ironfur banner and put it up, allowing it blow out in the hot Dornish winds. The gate opened slowly and loudly. They rode into the castle. A gruff-looking guard led them further into the castle.

They wandered through narrow and tall corridors that opened up into many small gardens until they reached the oak doors of the Lord Yronwood's courtroom. A herald called out into the court as they entered. "Lord Yorwick Flaxe, an envoy of the Lord Ironfur of the Ironmountain!"

Yorwick and his men were still in their riding armours, their weapons still firmly at their sides. Yorwick approached and bowed, his men bowed behind him. "Lord Anders. We have been travelling for quite some time, and without any bed to sleep in. I humbly ask that we might be accommodated here for some time so that we might rest." The lord looked at him with calculating and cold blue eyes.

"House Ironfur is loyal to House Lannister are they not?" Yorwick nodded. "My Prince has commanded that I raise an army and defend the Stoneway, as is my duty as Warden of the Stoneway. So tell me, need I defend the Stoneway from House Lannister?"

Yorwick considered the man before him carefully before sighing. "Most certainly my Lord. Most certainly. House Lannister would war with Dorne if they felt it was best for them."

Lord Anders raised an eyebrow and looked to his maester amusedly. "Then why should I allow Lannister bannermen through here?" He was eager to hear the answer.

"I doubt you should. But there are no Lannister bannermen here. I see Martell bannermen and Yronwood bannermen and I see Ironfur bannermen but it would seem lions are not suited to the sands of Dorne."

Lord Anders laughed. "That is a shame. Since the Princess Myrcella has come to Dorne and is betrothed to Prince Trystane." Yorwick flushed. He hadn't known that information. "Prince Quentyn, what do you think of the news that your new goodsister shall suffer in the sand." A boy sat at the Lord's table to his right. He looked to be about ten and five years old and of Rhoynar blood.

"My future goodsister is a stag, not a lion. I'm sure she shall adapt to our climate. I wish her well." Yorwick nodded.

Lord Anders waved to some servants. "See to it that Lord Yorwick and his men have chambers for tonight." He turned back to Yorwick. "See to it that you are not in Yronwood tomorrow night." Lord Anders rose and left the courtroom. The Prince, however, came down the steps that raised up the Lord's table and stood in front of Lord Yorwick.

"Why are you going to Plankytown?"

"My Lord commands it." The answer didn't satisfy him. When nothing more was forthcoming the boy shook his head.

"The Dornish are not fond of the Westermen." He paused. "We have suffered many crimes at their hands." Lord Yorwick remained silent. "Perhaps the Westermen will not find Dorne very hospitable." The boy smirked and turned to go.

"Words and words and words." The boy stopped and looked back. "Words are wind little Prince. And the winds give birth to storms." Lord Yorwick and his men departed, following servants to their new bedchambers. Prince Quentyn was left stood in the courtroom of Yronwood watching the door they had passed through.

It was a saying oft used at the Ironmountain. The Ironfur weren't very talkative, they were never rude and usually were gregarious enough to entertain even the most gossip-stricken young ladies but for them silence had its virtues. Amongst others the saying 'words are wind' meant that words meant little, amongst the Ironfur it meant that words often mean too much.

For words were wind and they were definitely giving birth to many storms.


	18. Wyverns, Drakes and Dragons

Idris' life had settled into a routine. He conducted his business in the morning then went to the afternoon court session and returned to his chambers to have dinner with Jonella and Lady Sansa was a regular guest at mealtimes. At least once a week he wouldn't go to court and spent the entire afternoon holding Jonella as they wandered the gardens or walked the city streets, or on occasion lay in bed together for the whole afternoon. In the evenings they usually visited the Godswood together. Lady Sansa would come with them when she had dined with them, other evenings it was only by chance that they met together in the Godswood. When she did not dine with them she regularly only went to the Godswood nearer to nightfall.

News had come of Renly's death, poison was the rumour but it was clear that Lord Tyrion had nothing to do with it. He was a skilled actor but his response was honest enough when the news had come. Idris was sure Lord Tyrion had no qualms over the use of poison, a man with limited means to conventionally defeat his opponents had little choice. It still pleased him that Lord Tyrion hadn't been the poisoner, they had struck up a cordial acquaintance on behalf of Lady Sansa.

Lord Tyrion had arranged for lessons for Lady Sansa. She told them about her lessons eagerly, she had lessons in music which she was excited about since she had been rather skilled in her years at Winterfell. She expressed unhappiness at having to learn her sums, however, Jonella had always been rather fond of her sums. Upon learning this Sansa had slowly become more enthusiastic in learning about finance and the intricacies of mathematics.

She had also revealed that Lord Tyrion would invite her to lunch with him once a week, he'd enquire as to how her lessons were going and tell her about the city's affairs, those she was allowed to know of. Idris had overheard her telling Jonella in one of their sewing sessions, which were fewer than they had been, that Lord Tyrion would read to her from some of his books. Most often it was about history, apparently Lord Tyrion was fascinated by the past and he felt Lady Sansa should learn about it also.

One morning, Idris was roaming the library of the Red Keep. The library at the Ironmountain was large and cold. It held many hundreds of books but it was clear that the Grand Maesters had kept the Red Keep well stocked in the newest books of the Citadel. Most Grand Maesters had been Archmaesters at the Citadel who were the council of the wisest maesters charged with the running of the Citadel of Oldtown.

He had come here often to seek books on the old magics that had vanished from the world, and where they had vanished to. He climbed to the next floor of the library, the texts on Valyrian magics were higher up so as to be further from the entrance of the library. King Robert had wanted nothing of the Valyrians near to him, the dragon skulls were locked away in a dark dungeon, the ancient texts were kept hidden away, far from the initial bookcases that King Robert visited very rarely. Rumour said that he had never visited the library for more than a quiet place to be serving girls.

Idris walked past aisles of bookshelves before turning to his right into the aisle that held books on hatching and taming dragons. If an egg could be found then these books would prove to be immeasurably useful. Idris, caught in his thoughts about holding a dragon hatchling in his hands, nearly missed the young girl stood with an old tome in her hands.

"Lady Sansa, I hadn't thought the library was your chosen place for passing time." He smiled at her as she shook her head.

"Neither did I my Lord. Lord Tyrion asked that I choose the next book that we read together and I have no books of my own so I..." She trailed off, looking about the shelves around them. Idris nodded in understanding. He looked over the title of the book. 'Wyverns, Drakes and Dragons : A History of the Unnatural.' He raised an eyebrow as he looked back up at her. She flushed slightly. "Lord Tyrion really likes dragons." Idris chuckled.

"And Lady Sansa does as well?" She nodded, her face a bright red. "Very good. Dragons are such interesting creatures."

"Were, my Lord. The dragons have all died."

"Perhaps, but sailors bring word of dragons taking wing over the Shivering Sea and traders are fond of the stories of dragons living in the Shadowlands of Asshai. The Valyrian dragons may be gone, but the more adventurous of us may be so lucky as to see a dragon sometime in the future." Idris bowed to her and turned to leave. She curtsied and walked down the aisle, her book in hand.

It was several days later that Idris and Jonella had found themselves down at the harbour. The shipwrights and some of the fisherman recognised them from their walks through the street. Jonella was fascinated by ships, she'd never been on one before and none of the streams that danced across the slopes of the Ironmountain were deep enough for so much as a river galley so they had come to visit those who worked about the ships often on their walks to hear their tales.

"Don't you worry about the Princess. M'lord, M'lady, that ship is as sound as any I've seen. Far more than most. It'll be quite the storm that forces the shiphands to wake the Princess from her sleep." The Queen Mother was pretending not to listen as the shipwright from her place behind the king but her body seemed to lose some of its tension as he spoke. Soon Princess Myrcella and her Kingsguard were aboard their ship and on route to Dorne via Braavos.

The court began to wind its back up to the Red Keep. Crowds began to line the streets as they passed. A man shouted down from above them, he was calling for food. The burning of the Riverlands and the rebellion of the Reach had meant that food was becoming scarce amongst the commonfolk. It was a worry that had made itself apparent on many of their walks. The crowd was becoming restless. More shouts were ringing out. The situation was becoming dangerous. Idris ordered that four Ironfur guards escort Jonella and Lady Sansa to the castle by the quickest route immediately. Once they arrived they'd order the men to cook as much good food as they could and escort it to the Sept of Baelor, to arrive at the sunset.

Idris climbed up to the crowd in the raised plaza. "Have you not heard?" He shouted out into the crowd. It quietened slightly. "Have the Septons not told you?!Did they not ring their bells and give you the good news and blessings?!" The procession behind him had stopped, Lord Tyrion was looking at him calculatingly. He was deciding where this was going. The crowd had become near silent. Listening to Idris' voice as it carried across the plaza.

"There is to be a great feast today, for all the people of King's Landing. It shall be in the Great Square in front of the Sept of Baelor. The High Septon himself shall open the feast with prayers to the Gods for the safety of Princess Myrcella on her travels. Just as King Aegon the conqueror held a feast for all the people to sing prayer to the gods for his sister Rhaenys when she went to Dorne." He hoped none of the crowd knew that he was lying. He also hoped none of the procession would comment on what happened to Rhaenys in Dorne.

"My brothers and sisters. My uncles and aunts. Go now to your families and friends. Bring them the good news. Tonight you need not go hungry. Let us all pray for Princess Myrcella together tonight." The crowd rumbled in delight. The plaza emptied as the commonfolk rushed home. The promise of good food was not to be wasted. Idris hopped back down to the procession.

"Shall we continue on to the Red Keep then? I shall have to get ready for the feast in my niece's name." Lord Tyrion spoke calmly, as if he knew what was going to happen all along. "It is good that we have such a generous king who cares so greatly about his sister. King Joffrey, Guided by the Gods, perhaps." The little lord turned and began to walk along the road to the Red Keep, Idris kept pace beside him.


	19. A Less Than Warm Welcome

They had set camp south of the River Road that ran from Riverrun to Lord Harroway's Town. The fires of Harrenhal burnt from the far bank of the Gods' Eye. A simple wooden stake perimeter had been built but he'd sent men to haul stones for the foundation of a stronger palisade wall. The camp would be here for some time, he suspected. Karl gazed out to the island sat in the centre of the lake.

It was large, even at this distance. The fires of Harrenhal, which must have been the huge braziers common to the larger castles, seemed to be only orange pinpricks. The Isle of Faces, however, was massive. He could see the blood red leaves of the family of weirwoods that grew on the island. It was rumoured that weirwoods never stopped growing. Looking out on the trees there he could see why they said that. The white trees were twice as tall as the rest of the trees on the isle.

The weirwoods at home were large but they weren't noticeably taller than the rest of the forest, perhaps it was because of how common they were. Karl turned back to the camp. He and two riders would procure a boat for him to row out to the island. "There wouldn't happen to be anyone here descended from the bastard of a long forgotten Ironfur, would there?" One of the riders shook his head.

"I doubt it, if there is none of us know it. Why?"

"It was Ironfur blood that watered those weirwoods when they were saplings, near ten thousand years ago. I'd rather that someone of the same blood went with me when I row across." Karl sighed. They were quickly approaching a small village. The village seemed to be uninhabited. The roofs of many houses had collapsed and the walls of the inn were blackened and scarred by flame. As they rode through the village they came across corpses. One wore a distinct black fur of the Night's Watch. A recruiter perhaps.

They turned to go to the shore, perhaps there used to be a fisherman in the village and they could use his boat. It wasn't altogether much of a surprise to find that the small wooden boat was half sunk into the waters. It was only held above the surface by the tip of the prow which had managed to become embedded into the silt at the water's edge. Two splintered oars sat in the boat, floating in the shallow water that had filled the boat.

Karl and the two men with him reached down and hauled the boat out of the lake. A large hole was torn into one side of the boat but it would be easier to repair than to try and build a new boat themselves. It was late morning the next day when they arrived at the camp again, the boat in tow behind Karl's horse. The men had lain loose stones around the camp just inside of the wooden stakes. The stones were large but would do little to deter the Brotherhood without Banners if they came in the night.

They spent half a week in the camp improving the fortifications around their camp, digging trenches and building up the wall. They had stacked stones to create a loose, weak wall about two foot tall and had taken mud from the shallows of the lake's edge and covered the stone in the mud. Then the wooden palisade had been quick to build, the wet mud set around the wooden planks, fixing them into place.

Then work had begun on fixing the boat. Karl could have sworn that he saw people on the Isle of Faces watching them as they worked. Once on guard duty at night he thought that he had even seen a fire on the island. The fire had vanished quickly and he doubted his own eyes. Shortly after the boat was back in working order, ravens had flocked to the island, then, as soon as they had arrived they dispersed. There were stories of the Children of the Forest using raven song to send their messages, Karl wondered if those ravens were going to sing songs of the men who had built a small fortress on the banks of the Gods' Eye.

It was dusk when he began to row out to the Isle of Faces. He had left the camp in the command of a group of trusted men. If the Night's Watch recruits tried to run, the group were to tie them to a big rock and send them to the bottom of the Gods' Eye. He looked up at the way he had come, there were some campfires arranged around the camp and it seemed that there were patrols around the camp. The men who had ridden with him were disciplined when they needed to be. Karl was well aware that they were capable of making chaos when they needed to as well.

There was a thump as the boat struck land. Karl put the two oars into the boat, climbed out and pulled the boat up and out of the water. He didn't want to lose the boat and be stuck here. When he turned around he was faced by over a dozen men with spears arranged around him, their points all very close to him. They wore robes but the robes were odd. They seemed to be made of leaves and some even wore robes with moss, grass and flowers woven into the fabric. Karl took a step back and raised his hands, in what he hoped would be a gesture to prove him unarmed. The robed men took a step closer.

They had masks made of weirwood. Faces had been carved into the weirwood. Karl was getting close to being driven back into the water when a raven perched on the boat beside him. "Let him approach" The bird sang out. Karl looked at the raven in wonder. His eyes were wide as he contemplated what he had heard. The bird had spoken with a man's voice. Then Karl was grabbed roughly by his arms and pulled deeper into the forest that covered the island.

It was proving to be a less than warm welcome.


	20. A Woman of the Ironmountain

Yorwick and his men had ridden for two weeks through the deserts of Dorne. The Shadowtown had appeared before them as a blessing. It had been foolishness to try to ride east without sheltering amongst the Dornish lords, but Yorwick was worried that they would turn on them in the night. The crimes of House Lannister were remembered in Dorne and as men of the Westerlands they were not looked upon favourably at all.

Yorwick paid for room and board at an inn on the outskirts of the Shadowtown. They would spend one night in real beds before turning south towards Plankytown. They awoke the next morning, better rested than they had been for weeks, and left the inn shortly after breaking fast with a plain meal.

As soon as they left the inn they were surrounded. Half a hundred men stood in a ring around them, their spears trapping the group in the centre of the ring. Passers-by stopped to watch as a woman walked through the circle. Yorwick glanced up and down her body. He flushed.

She had the face of a girl, he looked into her eyes and she smiled at him, but her body was quickly blossoming into that of a woman. It was closer to being the body of fully grown woman than a girl. Her dress left little to the imagination. As they had travelled east he had noted that the Dornishmen seemed to wear less and less. Likely it was due to the heat of the Dornish sun. He wondered if the women in Spottswood, even further to the east, wandered in the streets less dressed than this woman. He doubted it.

She swayed her hips as she approached him. She had picked out that he was in charge. She had also picked out that he was rather affected by her. Brandon grunted beside him, advising him to think with his mind and not his cock. Yorwick looked back at Brandon, he felt like the young woman had turned him back into a boy. He'd been with women before but this felt different and she wasn't even within touching distance. He looked up at her, she was smirking. Her eyes sparkling.

Yorwick stepped forward. The spearmen did too, constricting the circle. She laughed, her eyes laughed too. With a wave of her hand the men lowered their weapons, they still stood to attention but it was much less threatening. She came to Yorwick and bowed, he got a full showing of much of what her dress had previously hidden. She smiled as she returned to standing.

Yorwick took her hand and kissed the back of it. "My Princess." He released the hand.

"You guessed?" She turned her head slightly and her hair fell over one shoulder. His eyes followed its movement. There was something odd about this woman.

"How could I not? We stand in the shadow of Sunspear, and a woman as beautiful as yourself captures us. You must be the Princess Arianne."

"Captures you?" She grinned and looked at her men. "What could you mean? Sometimes a Princess just wants to walk the streets of her city." Yorwick rolled his eyes. She stuck out a tongue playfully. Yorwick was half tempted to stick out his own in reply. Brandon grunted.

"If a Princess was just visiting the Shadowtown then we, who are not captives, would be free to go on our way." Yorwick turned and took a step down the road. A hand reached out a grabbed his shoulder. Brandon had already begun to draw his sword. The Princess let go and took a step back. She eyed Brandon warily.

"You've come to the Shadowtown but won't pay a visit to see my father?" She pouted. "You must come with me." She smiled again, took his arm and pulled him close to her, intertwining her fingers into his as she kissed him on his cheek. She whispered into his ear and he flushed again. The Princess and her men began to walk up to the castle, Yorwick caught in her grasp didn't attempt to escape her and with a grunt Brandon and the rest of the Ironfur men followed behind.

They passed through a wide gate with the sun and spear of House Martell hanging from the battlements. The guards bowed lowly to the Princess as she passed. The men who had escorted them to the castle went their own ways and the Princess pulled him into the depths of the castle. They wandered through corridors until coming out near a stables. A train of riders and a wheelhouse were sat waiting.

"Do you ride?" The Princess's dark eyes shone as he gazed into them. The question confused him. She touched a hand to his face and slapped him gently. "Do you ride?" She giggled. He shook himself and nodded. He liked her giggle. She led him over to the wheelhouse and opened the door. "Stay here."

She disappeared into the wheelhouse for some time. Brandon and the others had come to him. "I don't approve." Yorwick looked to Brandon, an eyebrow raised. Brandon was a disapproving person. "She's a Princess, let's not cause any trouble with her." Yorwick sighed. Brandon was right. She was from one of the Great Houses of Westeros. He was a minor nobleman. His own father had given up on finding him a wife.

There were no noble women of the right age at the Ironmountain when Yorwick came of age. House Ironfur came from common blood thousands of years ago and married common blood and were proud of it. The Flaxes came from merchant blood less than a century ago and Yorwick's father refused to stoop to marry common blood, he felt it would risk them losing their new position in the world.

Thus Yorwick was childless and unmarried. Still, he thought, men can dream of women with such beauty. The Princess came out of the wheelhouse. She was wearing a deep blue dress. It had no sleeves and did have a deep cut that revealed the sides of her breasts, or would have if ornate gems and golden ornaments didn't hang from a chain around her neck and cover them. She reached out a hand. "They must stay, come."

Brandon growled behind him. Yorwick took her hand and she pulled him up into the wheelhouse. A door to the left revealed where she had gotten her dress, it was a walk-in wardrobe. She led him past the door and to the right. A man with the same olive skin as she had was sat on a large soft chair. To one side a boy sat on a low bench beside Princess Myrcella. Yorwick had seen her in his time at King's Landing.

Princess Arianne sat on the bench to the other side and gestured to Yorwick that he should sit there as well. "Father, this is Lord Yorwick Flaxe, the man Quentyn wrote about." Yorwick's eyes searched for a nearby exit. He hadn't heard any fighting, had they killed his men while he was too busy running his eyes over the curves of the Princess's rear?

"He and his men will ride with me on the way to the Water Gardens. He is so much fun." She grinned at him and grabbed his hand. He flushed, hoping the Prince of Dorne wouldn't think that he done anything with his daughter. Her father sighed. "He's on an adventure too. Or so Quentyn said."

"Indeed." Yorwick turned to face Doran Martell. His legs were thin, unused to walking, it was well known that the man had been unable to walk for many years. "You ride for Plankytown. Why might a group of Lannister soldiers be riding to Plankytown? And you came to the Shadowtown too, the day that I intended to depart with your Princess." Yorwick looked across at Princess Myrcella.

"Perhaps you have come to take her back?" Yorwick looked up at the Prince, surprised. Princess let go of his hand and gasped.

"You are here to take her back."

"No I am not. I am not here for any Lannisters. I'm here on Lord Ironfurs orders. He's not sent me to take her away from her betrothed. You need not worry about that." Princess Arianne looked at him sharply. She then leant against his side and whispered to him.

"I hope you aren't lying. Liars don't get... treats." She kissed him behind the ear lightly. He closed his eyes before looking into the Prince's gaze.

He made a noise of contemplation before waving a hand. "Then why are you here?"

"Lord Ironfur told me to ride to Plankytown. He said to become one of the orphans, take their mother as my own, live as them, amongst them. Befriend them."

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know." The Prince tsked.

"You're lying."

"Yes." Yorwick held himself proudly, if this was the decision that ended his life then so be it. There were other sons to be heir to the Flaxe estate. Brandon and the others wouldn't be fool enough to avenge him. They'd complete their mission. Princess Arianne giggled.

"Go ride with my daughter and my guards. We leave at once. You and your men are our guests, and shall be for quite some time."

The Princess led him back out of the room and to her wardrobe. She slipped inside and picked out a set of riding clothes. She began to undress. Yorwick made a noise and turned around. He could hear her grinning at his discomfort. It made his body tingle. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and laughed. When he turned around she kissed his cheek. Yorwick realised that she was much shorter than the rest of the Dornish women he had seen.

She was roughly the same height as a woman of the Ironmountain.


	21. The Roar Of A Western Lion

Lord Idris had returned a letter with Godsblood's raven. Torrhen read it aloud to the village. It told Torrhen that they could come to meet him in King's Landing. They would have to wear hooded cloaks and keep hidden but once they arrived they would have the full protection of the Lord Ironfur. After they arrived Lord Idris intended to leave King's Landing and introduce them to their new home on the slopes of the Ironmountain before beginning the journey north.

The clan had made hooded cloaks for themselves and had begun to travel towards King's Landing. Most of the Children were walking, they were easily keeping pace with the horses. Torrhen had quickly realised that they were faster and stronger than anyone he knew. He had felt stronger and faster when he went wood dancing with them than he ever had before. He had even brought a deer back to the village by himself shortly before they left.

One of the Children was sat on a horse however. They had chosen the name of Doe for her. Her skin had large light brown patches on it, similar to a doe. She had been the one who guided them to the village and she now rode on Corwyn's horse. She and Corwyn had grown close and in the six weeks that they'd spent in the village Doe had already begun to show signs of carrying. Corwyn was worried about her.

Torrhen went to ride beside him and touched his elbow. The younger man turned to look at him, still carefully guiding his horse. "They say the Crannogmen are descendants from First Men who married Children. It's why they're so short." Corwyn looked at the Child sat in front of him.

"The men of the Ironmountain are half way between Northmen and Crannogmen. What does that say about us?"

"That only half of us used to sleep with Children. Lord Ironfur'll look after you both. You know he will." Corwyn didn't look very reassured. Doe had taken a hand into hers and was rubbing circles into the back of it. He seemed to relax slightly.

"The Children don't marry. They take a life-mate and that's that. Don't even have a word for marriage, at least from what I can tell. This one's going to be a bastard, and only a half man too. Likely he'll have the height to go with it."

"That's what your worried about? You don't think you can be someone's life-mate?"

"Of course I can be Doe's life-mate." Corwyn sounded angry. "I just, what's my father going to think? I'm bringing home a woman who's not five foot or human, and a baby, and we aren't married."

"Why don't you get married then? Just because her people don't get married doesn't mean she can't. You tried asking her? When we get to the Ironmountain you can get married under the arms of a weirwood. Do you regret the child?" Torrhen looked at Doe. She appeared to be looking ahead as if she didn't know what they were saying. He knew that she did understand them. The whole village could understand the Common Tongue now.

"Of course not." Corwyn leant his head into Doe's oaken hair. He sighed. Her hand came up to play with his hair.

"Good." Torrhen patted Corwyn on the back. "Then you'll look after it when it comes out. Even if Lord Ironfur decides for some reason that he doesn't like it, you've got me and four other men of the Ironmountain and a whole clan of magical, tiny, green people on your side." Corwyn nodded. Torrhen rode ahead and rode in his place alongside Godsblood again. He looked back at Corwyn and Doe, holding one another.

He still pondered regularly about how they had even gone about making a child. Her hands were more like claws and the large curved spike coming from the back of them was terrifying. Perhaps he wouldn't be so surprised if she wasn't just so small. The tallest of the Children was maybe four foot and half.

They turned around a bend in the road, they would be at King's Landing in the morning if they continued through the night. It had become dark an hour or so before. The Kingswood was aflame. The fire rose into the night sky and devoured the whole forest between them and the city. Godsblood roared in anger. The wind howled in fury and whipped around them. Thunder rolled in from all around them.

Then Torrhen saw the banners flying in the encampment at the edge of the Kingswood. A stag in a heart made of fire. The Children readied their dragonglass blades and spears. Many nocked arrows onto weirwood bows. Godsblood stepped forwards and raised his hands, screaming in the tongue of the Children.

The Gods must have heard him. A storm formed over to the east and bolts of lightning streaked across the sky. Torrhen heard the singing of steel even from here. He looked at his men. The rest of the Ironfur men were in that city. Torrhen would be damned if he let them be killed by these men who had burnt the weirwood at Storm's End. Godsblood was looking up at him. Torrhen only nodded.

The Children began to run forwards, their anger howling into the wind. Godsblood gave another great roar. Torrhen guessed that it must be the same roar that the Western Lions once gave, back when they still lived. Godsblood vanished in a flurry of leaves. Torrhen dropped from his horse and put on his Ironfur and buckled the horse's canvas armour on. The other men did the same.

Torrhen mounted again, drew his sword and charged. The Ironfur riders caught up with the Children just before they reached the camp. The group slammed into the camp. There had been no guards on the south side of the camp. It was massacre, the Children proved to be excellent warriors. Their wood dancing had taught them more than just how to hunt. They tore through grown men in steel plate with ease.

Arrows appeared in the gullets of men. Screams rang out in the forest. Godsblood was in the forest, beasts made of flame leapt down from the burning trees and burst into fire as they touched the Rhilor'i fighters. Burnt, screaming men flailed on the ground as the clan fought through the trees. This was where the Children thrived. They may have been Children of the Rainwood but once, a long time ago, the Kingswood and Rainwood were one and the same.

Even those who didn't have the powerful magics of Godsblood could drive the winds around them to forge paths through the burning forest. Every passing moment only strengthened the winds. They breached the treeline on the other side of this part of the woods. Green flames were dancing into the night on the river to the other side of the city.

Torrhen looked up at the walls. There were Ironfur banners on the wall. Arrows were raining down into the army below the battlements. He could hear singing. It was an old song. One he knew well, but why were they singing a funeral song? Torrhen looked around him. The Rhilor'i had begun to form ranks to fight their new enemy. Beasts made of fire continued to rush out of the forest and dragonglass arrows were finding their marks in the Rhilor'i.

Torrhen dismounted. He steadied his shield and took up a position alongside the Children who were forming a wall between the Rhilor'i and Godsblood. The enemy charged them, their new disciplined ranks didn't flee as their companions burnt beside them. Torrhen grunted as his shield took the brunt of a man's attack. Beside him the Children had forgotten their wall of spears and had begun to fight in a frenzy. An arrow buried itself into a nearby Child. It crumbled to the ground.

Torrhen roared. It surprised even himself, it sounded much like Godsblood's roar earlier. The storm roared in response. He charged forwards, tearing men apart, he lost his sword in the falling corpse of one opponent. The sharpened points of his gauntlets and boots grappled with those around him. He shredded skins and broke bones. Flesh lay on the ground around him. The singing had grown louder, nearer.

"Form rank! Spears front! Ready yourselves! They'll attack again!" A gauntlet gripped his arm. "Its good to see you again Torrhen. And your new friends too."

Torrhen looked up into the shadowcat helm of Lord Idris and grinned.


	22. A Fresh Perspective

Yorwick sighed as he took her hand. She pulled him up from the sandy ground of the training arena. She was grinning at him, it was the third time she had put him into the sand that afternoon. Yorwick didn't really mind, he'd done the same to her just as many times. Her smile after she won also helped to make it up to him. They'd arrived at the Water Gardens the day previous and she'd allowed him the morning to rest before bursting into his room and dropping some Dornish clothing onto him and waiting for him to get dressed.

He had flushed and turned his back to her as he tried to dress and keep his modesty somewhat intact. He felt her watching him. She giggled behind him. Shortly after he was dressed, she dragged him from the room and tucked his arm into her side. He didn't try to pull away as the Princess kissed his cheek and led him into a small room with a table in it. Their lunch was brought into the room soon after.

After lunch she had decided to take him out and spar with him. The Princess kept changing between dresses as the day went on. She told him that his men were freely walking around the Water Gardens but none of them could leave. Her latest dress had distracted him enough to put him into the sand.

It was revealing, her thighs were bare to the sun and much of her back as well. His eyes trailed across her flat stomach and into the valley between her breasts. Then he met her eyes, humour dancing in them. "Why do you have so many dresses?" she smiled.

"Why do you have so many different armours? Each is suited to a different task. Some dresses are for meeting important people." A hand went to the side of his face. "Some are for wandering the gardens." the hand went down to his shoulder and ran down his arm. "Some are for capturing silly little lords who think more with their cocks than their heads." She kissed his cheek and stepped back. Yorwick frowned.

He couldn't meet her gaze. He knew now why her eyes were always so amused. He sighed and turned towards the exit of the training ground. "Where are you going?"

"To find my men." He left the arena and began to walk through the gardens when a hand grasped his shoulder from behind.

"What's wrong?" He looked into her eyes, they were the right height for him to just look straight across into them. He was always looking up at the other Dornishmen. She seemed to be concerned but he wasn't sure. Was there still the pleasure she received from her game dancing her them.

He pulled back. She pinched her lower lip between her teeth. "I am tired, my Princess. A problem that comes with age it would seem." She opened her mouth as if to reply before thinking better of it. She took his hand and pulled gently. Yorwick hesitated. She pulled again and he sighed, his eyes closed as she gently led him through the gardens.

He felt her pull down, his eyes opened. They were sat in a small circle of grass, it was hidden behind tall trees and they couldn't see out. Likely no one else could see in. He looked down at the Princess, she was laid down on the grass, smiling softly up at him. She patted the grass beside her. Yorwick sighed and lay down beside her.

A hand rested on his chest as she rolled onto her side, her head resting on his shoulder. He tensed up. She began to whisper. "Do you want to leave?" He glanced down at her. He nodded silently. "For your mission?" He paused. Another nod. She sighed, her breath brushed against his neck. He shivered slightly, he could feel her smile. "Will you tell me what your mission is?" He shook his head. "What if I get you and your men horses?" He glanced back down at her, an eyebrow raised. "And I get you all out of here." The other eyebrow raised itself.

"And then bring us all back, your guards waiting all hidden where our escape will be?" Yorwick shook his head. "I am not so silly a lord." A flash of realisation appeared on her face. She nibbled her lip again. She looked... ashamed.

"I didn't mean you. Do you think I meant you?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry." She turned her face into his shoulder, as if to hide away. He touched a hand to her hair, it felt silken. Her scent filled his nose as he breathed in. "What if I come with you?" She was looking up into his eyes, question filled her beautiful, dark brown irises.

"What?" He shook his own head to clear it, he must have been staring into her eyes. "Weren't you going to lead us to our escape before?"

"Yes but I mean if I go to Plankytown with you." He looked away at the trees around them. "Then you know that the guards aren't waiting at our escape."

"They could be waiting in Plankytown." Yorwick tried to keep his scepticism from his voice. Could she be trusted? "Why would you help us to escape? Why go against your father? You are the one who captured us."

She nodded against him. "I am. You won't tell anyone?" She was gazing up into his face. He wondered if anyone was able to hear them through the trees around them. Surely if she intended to tell him a secret then this was a safe place to discuss escape. She might be honest in her intentions. He nodded. "When I was fourteen I found a letter in his solar. He had written it and I assume he was going to send it later and had thought it safe on his desk." Yorwick's hand ran through her hair, a light wind was blowing the occasional strand. "It was to Quentyn, my little brother. It said that..." She paused and looked away, she seemed hesitant. "He would be the Prince of Dorne. I was so angry. I am angry. I should be Princess of Dorne before him. How could he do that?"

She shook slightly in anger beside him. He pulled her closer. She sighed, her hand splayed out on his chest and the other gripped his arm tightly. She leant over to kiss his cheek, he turned away. She flinched as if struck. "Perhaps you won't be Princess because you can't be. In Dorne women have the same inheritance, if he just passed you over then there would be rebellion." He spoke quietly.

"I know that there'll be rebellion. I'll make sure of it." She slid closer to him, cupping him into her body. He shook his head in front of her.

"No. You don't see it. You won't be Princess for a reason, he needs a reason to pass you over." He turned over slightly. "You aren't married. Why aren't you married? You're beautiful, you're the heir to a powerful house, your mother was fertile enough so it can be expected that you will be too."

"Father never married me to anyone." She shrugged. "I'm not pure either, maybe lords don't want to be given a used girl."

Yorwick shook his head. "Young women are as impure as young men. If lords didn't marry impure women then they'd never marry. You're already betrothed." She gasped and rolled away.

"What?" He turned to look at her. "Who to?"

"It'll have to be someone with a higher title than your one as Princess of Dorne."

"I'm betrothed to Prince Tommen? And Father will have someone kill the King. Then I'll be queen and Quentyn will be Prince of Dorne and then father will have some vengeance for my aunt. He'll have killed King Robert's son." She looked torn. She wanted vengeance but she wasn't sure she approved of her secret betrothal. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"Because you won't marry Prince Tommen. You will marry a Targaryen Prince. Dorne will support him as he will be your husband. Then your husband shall extinguish all of the houses responsible for your aunt's death, and the death of your cousins too I suppose."

Princess Arianne sat up. Her dress fell about her awkwardly, revealing more of her beauty to him, more than she likely expected. His gaze fell on her body. He forced it to her face, she might soon be an ally and he should not grope his ally with his eyes. "How didn't I see that? I've been here for years, wondering what he might be planning." She spoke so quietly he wondered whether she was talking to herself.

"Suppose it takes a fresh perspective. I'm a step back from the problem." Her face snapped to his. She seemed to be very angry. He fell backwards, away from her glare.

"How dare he? Force me into a betrothal and never even tell me! I haven't even met the boy he wants me to marry." She gritted her teeth and growled. She stood up, probably about to do something stupid. He reached for her and pulled her back down onto the grass. Her glare refocused on him. It softened slightly and she worried her lower lip between her teeth again. She was nervous.

Yorwick leant forward and kissed her.


	23. Wings Of A Raven

Karl was brought deep into the island. He couldn't see the shore from where he now stood. He looked around him. There were many of the Green Men that had met him when he arrived. Their twisted spears were terrifying, others held wicked looking swords. Their masks gazed upon him with cruelty. He could imagine how these men had driven back the dragons when they came here. Only one dragon had ever set foot here and it had left without claiming the island for its family.

He wondered which of these weirwood trees was the Ironfur tree, that had been watered with Ironfur blood all those thousands of years before. A group of men came into the clearing that he was stood in. They were different. Their robes were much the same as all of the others but their helms had great antlers, as did their mounts. The elks looked magnificent as they wandered between the trees, bringing their riders safely to their destination.

The new arrivals dismounted and came closer. One reached out a hand. Karl looked at it in hesitation before taking it into his own. The man pulled hard, with a strength that had been entirely unexpected. He turned and pulled Karl behind him and put him onto an elk. They rode through the forest of the island. It felt like they had ridden further than possible. Their journey was longer than the journey he had made from the Ironmountain, and yet Karl knew that couldn't be true. The Isle of Faces was merely a small island out in the middle of a large lake.

Finally they arrived in the centre of a busy town. There were wide, round and short huts strewn about. Some leaned against trees, some stood by themselves and some were built off of the walls of large log cabins. Small people with green skin roamed the town, their skin was occasionally mottled with light brown. Many ordinary men walked the town's streets and squares, some had robes and spears, some wore breeches and shirts.

A single weirwood tree grew in the square at the centre of the town. It was larger than any tree he had ever seen before. The branches of this weirwood stretched high above the town and reached out to shade several streets entirely. Other trees, some weirwoods, some pines and some great oaks, were dotted about the town and filled in every spare space. The men on elks dropped off their mounts and knelt before the tree. A small man, with the same green skin as many of the town's inhabitants, dropped down from the tree top.

Karl took several steps back before he heard the sound the Green Men's spears strike the cobbled ground. He paused. The small man came forwards. He was smiling. Karl looked closer at him. His eyes were a mossy green and his arms were muscular despite their size. Although he was small he was entirely in proportion unlike dwarfs were. His hands each bore only three fingers and a thumb but a sharp black claw, akin to a talon, stood out on the back of his hands.

He put out a hand. Karl didn't take it, he wasn't too fond of being hauled about like a sack of potatoes. The small man frowned and continued to come closer. "Greetings Karl of Merk blood." Karl was astonished and his eyes widened in fear. The small man chuckled. "You are the Captain of the Guards of the Ironmountain, and the husband of a beautiful woman too. We," He gestured to those in the square, "remember, of course, the Ironmountain fondly. And its people."

Karl shook his head, panic had set in. Was this man doing magic on him? What else could he see in Karl's memories? What else could he do? The short man took a hold of Karl and they both vanished from where they had been in a flurry of leaves. The winds carried them up into the branches of the trees. Karl looked down, they were many tens of feet above the ground now.

"You need not worry." Karl looked at him in surprise. The man chuckled again. "We have never been too fond of visitors here. But alas from time to time visitors do come to visit." The short man was dancing from branch to branch, but still more or less at the same height as Karl. "Come along young one. Others have come before you and they too have had to take this path to find their answers. Oh there was a man of Targaryen blood and a man of Reed blood who both wanted answers, wanted help. Why not place your feet in their footsteps?" The short man began to weave his way higher into the tree.

Karl stood carefully on the branch that he was on. His arms were out to the side to try and balance him. He had climbed trees before, his sister had always enjoyed playing in the trees with him. He remembered as she swung from the branches and would fly across into another tree, he had never been quite so bold, he much preferred to walk through the Ironmountain Godswood. He hadn't ever told on her to father however.

He began to clamber from branch to branch, some held his weight safely, others bowed and warped and threatened to throw him. Eventually he had reached the higher branches where the small man was waiting. He did not wait long before he began racing across the tops of the trees that thrived in the town below. The small man leapt from the high branches of the weirwood, he must have fallen more than a dozen feet into the embrace of the next tree. Karl hesitated. If he missed the right branch then he'd fall to his death. Even if he found the right branch then he'd likely break a bone or two.

He closed his eyes and leapt. Visions of his sister leaping from tree to tree filled his mind. Her hair was as black as a raven's feathers and had flapped out behind her as if she were a raven in flight. His legs buckled beneath him as he struck the wooden limb. He began to fall face first through the tree towards the ground. A hand grabbed his leg, he screamed out in pain.

He was yanked back up into the tree, tears ran down his cheeks from the pain in his lower body. "Fool boy. Thinks he is a bird." Karl lay on a branch as the small man began to rub his hands up and down Karl's legs. They surely shouldn't look like that. The bone had come out of his shin and looked rather sharp as its torn edges poked out. He screamed as the small man forced the bone back into his leg. He screamed louder as he felt the bone fragments start to knit together.

Karl was gasping for air as the small man shifted closer and began to rub Karl's head. "Why did you try to fly young one? You have arms not wings. You should climb from tree to tree, not glide." Karl had broken out into a harsh sweat. His head turned about restlessly.

"My sister can fly."


	24. Pleasures Of A Black Eye

She'd taken to waking him early in the morning by sneaking into his room and straddling him. It often took her kissing him to actually wake him. Yorwick couldn't complain much before she pulled out clothes for him to wear that day and began to dress him. He never let her see him fully, always fighting to be allowed to turn away from her as he got dressed. It was becoming apparent that it wasn't just his Princess that was eager to indulge in various pleasures.

Brandon had told him that some of Arianne's cousins had decided to welcome them to the Water Gardens in their own way. Brandon had seemed pleased with their attentions, though Yorwick wasn't sure if they had fought with blades or in a bed. Brandon would likely have been pleased by either. Yorwick himself had had to remove an overeager young woman from his room when he had entered to find her laid on his bed with her whole body bare.

In the morning she attended court sessions and often he was given the opportunity to wander the gardens alone. She would then find him and have lunch with him before taking him sparing and finally they spent their evenings alone together. He enjoyed their evenings, she seemed much calmer then and was satisfied with simply laying beside each other and talking, occasionally touching. He smiled as he remembered some of their gentle and tender touches. He knew she was unused to men who refused her as he did. He was unsure as to how to take that.

Brandon and the men were ahead in a pavilion. The expression on Brandon's face was one to be wary of. Yorwick hurried to the pavilion. A Dornish nobleman and his young bride, or perhaps paramour since the Dornish were rather open with their mistresses, were stood in the pavilion. They were either unaware of the glares they were receiving or didn't care.

A growl sounded from Brandon's lips. "What did you say about Lady Winterbane?" Yorwick turned to the couple.

"We've heard all about the Winterbane tradition you have. Its so silly. Marrying a peasant woman?" They laughed. "Your Lady may as well be a whore!" The sound of swords being drawn rang out into the gardens. Yorwick was surprised to find his own blade in hand. The six men of the Ironmountain were furious. Brandon wasn't the only one growling now.

"Say that again." Brandon's sword was pressed against the Dornishman's chest. There was the sound of movement around them. The Palace Guard had arrived. They must have heard the sound of the swords.

"Lower your weapons!"

"Say that again!" Brandon roared out. None of them sheathed their swords. If a fight broke out, Yorwick expected that they would be easily defeated. Their ironfurs were all still in their chambers. Yorwick certainly hadn't been expecting to need it and Arianne had been against his use of it during sparring.

"Lower your weapons!" Brandon lunged forwards and grabbed the man by his throat. The guards began to come up the steps into the pavilion.

"Stop! Enough!" Arianne's voice rang out. Yorwick looked up to find the sun had neared its peak. She must have been looking for him. Yorwick tapped Brandon's sword. He looked over and dropped the man before sheaving his blade. Brandon spat on the Dornishman before pushing his way through the guards. "Let them go."

Arianne came to stand next to him and took his sword from his hand. The Dornishman and his wife were still visibly in shock from having been threatened at swordpoint. "What was that about?" Yorwick shook his head.

"Never insult the Ironfurs or Winterbanes in front of someone from the Ironmountain. They deserve their lands and titles more than anyone else ever has." He turned to go. She hooked his arm into hers, rolled her eyes and pulled him along to their small lunch room.

"Is it true?" Yorwick looked away from her full lips. He nodded.

"Yes the Winterbanes are all common born. They're the women who the Lord Ironfurs marry. We have two Winterbanes at the moment. Lord Ironfur's wife and his mother." Arianne made a noise of acknowledgement and continued to eat.

"Do you know them?" Yorwick smiled. Everyone at the Ironmountain knew them.

"Yes, they're both fiery." He chuckled. "They earned their places as Ladies of the Ironmountain. Lady Jonella, Lord Ironfur's wife, well, she was always going to be his wife. It was easy to see. She snuck into his lessons and he'd help her. When the guards found out she had gotten pass they'd both escape together. There was nothing anyone could do. Together they could both go anywhere. No one could stop them." He smiled as he look out the window. "I still remember the time Lord Ironfur caught them in bed together. I don't know if they had been in bed together before that but the argument he had with them was so loud..." He shook his head, a grin across his face.

"Lord Idris' mother though. No-one expected it really. It was rather sudden. See Lord Ironfur had been of age for five years but no woman had ever held his attention but one day he went to market to get fish. Now there was only one fish of the sort he wanted and he and this woman both wanted it." He turned back to Arianne. She was watching him fervently, his tale held her captive.

"She soon realised she couldn't out pay him for it so she offered to fight him and the winner would buy the fish." Yorwick chuckled. "So they fought and battered and bruised each other right in the middle of the market that day and finally Lord Ironfur won. He went to the stall and bought that last fish and then he picked the woman up and put her over his shoulder. The pair of them disappeared into the Godswood for a week and a bit. He came back with a black eye and a new Lady Winterbane." He smiled across at Arianne. She smiled back, amusement dancing in her dark brown eyes.

Yorwick took one of her olive-skinned hands into his. He kissed it softly. "So everyone at the Ironmountain likes their lord and lady? Even if she's a peasant?" Yorwick nodded. She sighed. Their meal had come to an end. She took his hand and dragged him away to the sparring grounds.

Brandon and the men were there, they were wearing their riding armour and had their ironfurs bundled up under their arms. They all followed behind them as she dragged him along through the training arena and finally into the stables. Seven horses were already saddled and Yorwick's ironfur was waiting tied to one of them. Arianne kissed him quickly before slipping one of the guard uniforms onto him. The others had slipped on their own costumes.

She rode out of the palace with the six of them posing as guards. When they were out of sight of the palace she leant across and took his face into her hands and kissed him hard. She whispered into his ear. "Last one to Plankytown is cooking." She laughed as she spurred her horse onwards.

She had delighted in the single meal he had made for her.


	25. Make Ready For War

News of the fall of Storm's End had come, not from Stannis Baratheon who had taken the stronghold, but from Doran Martell. It was somewhat concerning that the Dornish were receiving reports of the war far sooner than they were in King's Landing. Idris had been concerned for quite some time. Jonella had entered the final trimester and the baby was due within a moon's time. It was likely Stannis would be here before that. The Red Keep was strong and he expected that they would be able to hold against Stannis, at the very least until fair terms offered them some protection. The problem would be keeping Jonella from coming to the battlements with him. She had made hints recently that even if she was unable to fight she could still stand at his side.

Previous experience had taught him that Jonella was difficult to restrict. A knock came at the door of their quarters. "Who is it?" Jonella called through the door.

"Sansa." Came the reply. Idris stood and went to the door. Lady Sansa entered, she seemed upset and she was alone. Jonella put up her arms and Lady Sansa slipped into them, enjoying the comfort she always received from the older woman. She spoke softly. "I told my handmaiden not to bring me lunch today. Usually I have lunch with Lord Tyrion today and we talk and then we..." She blushed and looked up at Idris. "Read."

Idris was confused, there was nothing wrong with reading. He'd already discovered that she and Lord Tyrion were avid readers. She had called history 'songs that came true' and whilst he had perhaps found some amusement in how quickly Lord Tyrion had persuaded her so, he didn't think she needed to be so embarrassed.

"But he wasn't there today. His squire said he was talking to some people about the defence of the city. I couldn't find my handmaiden. I got lost. I'm so stupid, I've been trapped here for years. I heard someone I thought it was Joffrey and there was a woman. She was screaming." Jonella rubbed the girl's back and waved a hand at Idris. He left to go ask for some more food for Lady Sansa. She was as welcome to come eat with them at lunch as she was at dinner. If Idris ever dared to complain about a lack of private time together, Jonella's pregnancy may have weakened her swordplay but her tongue was still just as sharp.

After the meal Lady Sansa excused herself and hurried away. Idris had an idea at last. Jonella would stay in the Red Keep to look after Lady Sansa. They spent the afternoon discussing it in whispers during the court session. Jonella had proven to be disgruntled with the idea but had accepted it at least. He could sleep easier now that he knew she was relatively safe.

It was half a week later that Torrhen's letter arrived. The letter was clamped in a raven's mouth rather than tied to a leg and had no seal on it. The raven had come to Idris' balcony and was still waiting even after he had taken the letter. What Torrhen had written amazed him. A clan of Children in the Rainwood, ancient Gods warring with one another and that Stannis Baratheon's men had set the Storm's End Godswood ablaze. He had given the raven a quick reply agreeing to the Chief Godsblood's request that they meet before the clan make home at the Ironmountain. It was a reasonable enough request.

In the training yards the Ironfur men had been furious to hear of Stannis' crimes. To burn the Godswood was unthinkable, a crime against the Gods themselves. A fervour burnt through the men who redoubled their efforts in training and loyally stood guard in the night, watching for the Rhilor'i ships to sail to Blackwater Bay.

One evening Jonella and Idris had been walking the streets of King's Landing, as they had been wont to do of late. They passed through the usual districts, the sailors told bold tales down by the harbour, the merchants sold pretty trinkets in the market and the orphans of Flea Bottom sang of their troubles. Some of the Flea Bottom's inhabitants did more than sing.

The man had a knife out and pressed to Jonella's throat before either of them knew he was even there. "What's a pretty lady like you doing out here?" He licked the side of her face. She squirmed to try and escape his touch. "You look rich all right. What you gonna give to me so I don't spill your pretty lady's blood all over her nice little dress?" Idris touched hands to his pockets. What could he give? They never walked the streets with money, they had hoped it would cause thieves to leave them be, it was something they would need to change.

"Oi! Get off the Lady!" A baker had stepped out of a nearby store. The shout attracted more attention. Other shopkeepers began to come out onto the street. A butcher strode forwards, cleaver in hand.

"What you think you be doing?" He touched the cleaver's blade to the back of the thief's head. Idris could see the thief freeze in fear. "Them be the Lord and Lady who did that feast, at the Sept." The thief dropped his knife. The butcher turned to Idris who had quickly whisked Jonella into his hands. The crowd seemed ready to attack the young man before them. "You want his head? M'lord, M'lady?" The crowd began to call for blood.

The young man who had threatened them prostrated himself on his knees before them. "No please don't kill me! My mother, she died, she died." Idris pulled the man up from the muddy street.

"Don't need to get on your knees, I'm not a God and you're not suckling on anything down there." The crowd laughed. Jeers rang out. "What's this about your mother then?"

"She died after your feast M'lord. Last meal she ever had M'lord." The young man was looking down his hand clasped in front of him. "Said it was the best meal she'd had. Better than her wedding meal, but she never did remember that much M'lord, she were drunk a lot M'lord. Said she could die happy that that were her last meal M'lord. Please don't kill me M'lord, I'll do anything you want M'lord!"

"What I want is for this city to still be standing after Stannis comes with his army. What I want is for everyone to still be alive after Stannis comes. You'll serve me and you'll serve me well. Do you hear me?" The young man nodded. "When Stannis' army is here to kill us all I'll send a rider with one of my banners through Flea Bottom." Idris looked around at the crowd. "Fill as many buckets and barrels as you can with water. Stannis will want to burn this whole place to the ground. You're not going to let him. Do you all hear me?" The crowd began to murmur.

"This is your street, these are your shops, your homes. You all have a choice. You can sit by and do nothing and watch as it all burns to the ground, or you, when the time comes, can fight the fires with water, can fight Stannis' men and take bows up onto the wall and drive your arrows through one of his men's skulls. You can sit here and watch everything burn, you can whisper secrets and make plots to help Stannis come in here and burn it all down or you can be my men. Everyone knows the Gold Cloaks are corrupt and most of them have heads filled with nothing but a want to beat the living daylights out of the people of this city. You remember when they came round here and murdered babies?" The crowd shouted in anger.

"Aye you all do. So are you going to be my men?!"

"Aye!"

"Are you going to be men of the Ironfur?!

"Aye!"

"Are you going to beat Stannis and his army back to into the sea and send them crying to their mothers?!

"Aye!"

Stannis would need his Fire God's favour if he ever tried to breach those walls or burn these slums, even now the crowd was rushing through Flea Bottom spreading the word.

'Make arrows, make bows, make ready for war.'


	26. Silly Bird, Silly Man

He woke several times, high in the branches over the top of the town, and each time he felt as if he were aflame. His fever gripped him even in his sleep. Whenever he woke the small man would be there, he'd comfort Karl and then Karl would fall back into a restless slumber.

And then the fever ended. Karl awoke again with no burning or aching, he wasn't coated in sweat and the small man wasn't there. Karl sat up. The world swirled around him and he almost toppled from the nest that he had been laying in. A small green hand helped him to keep his balance. "Silly Bird. Be careful." The small man gave him a bowl of some slush. Karl drank it down to sate a thirst he hadn't known was there.

The small green man took his hand and helped him to stand. Then the small green man lead Karl through the tree tops. They climbed the great weirwood again. "Will the Silly Bird try to fly again?" Karl looked at the small man. He knew what happened if he did it wrong and yet, he did want to try to fly. It had been exhilarating, gliding through the air as he had. The small man must have seen his hesitation for he sighed. "Silly Bird wants to fly. Come." He climbed through the tree.

They arrived at another edge of the tree's branches. Here there were no trees to fall into, below were only the busy streets of the town of small green people. Karl looked back at the man, confused. "What do I do?" The small man smiled.

"What do birds do?" He stepped forwards. "Go fly Silly Bird!" Karl looked back down at the town below.

"I can't fly. I'm not a bird. I'll fall."

"Do you want to fall Silly Bird?" Karl shook his head. "No? Then don't fall. Fly!" The small man gave a sharp push to Karl's back that unbalanced him and sent him over the precipice and into open air. Karl screamed as he fell. "Fly Silly Bird!" The small man called down from above. Images of his sister flying through the Godswood at the Ironmountain filled his mind. He could see her as she laughed. She had always been so brave. She turned to look at him.

"Fly Karl, you Silly Bird. I'm watching." She was smiling at him. His eyes opened suddenly. The ground was getting closer rather slowly. He opened his mouth to call up to the small man. Only a loud squawk came out. Karl looked at himself. He was covered in black. He plummeted and landed with a thumb. A second squawk, more surprised, sounded from Karl.

The small man landed gracefully beside him. "Did the Silly Bird not want to fly?" Karl looked up at the small man. Karl couldn't remember ever being as short as he was then. Karl hopped about. He flapped his wings and shook his tail. He wanted to return to normal. He'd rather never fly again than be stuck as a raven. The small man chuckled. "You chose to be Silly Bird. Choose to be Silly Man." He climbed back up into his tree. "I will wait for you!" He called back down.

Karl sat himself down in the short grass that he had fallen into. He looked around him. The town looked to be massive from here, when he had been a man he had been able to see over most buildings. He waddled along towards the town, perhaps someone would be able to help him. Or perhaps he would be eaten. He paused and sat down once more. When he looked up he could see the small man with his legs dangled from a branch, looking down at Karl. Karl squawked up at him.

The man vanished into the weirwood's leaves. The weirwood was so large that from this height Karl couldn't even see its trunk through the town. The branches seemed to come from some point an impossible distance away. His eyes closed. He went back into his memory of his sister in the Godswood. She was smiling at him still. "You did well. Though you didn't really need to fall out of the sky afterwards. Hurry up Karl, there's a lot of people waiting for you." She spoke in the condescending tone she reserved for him, her little brother. Well, him and that farmhand she always snuck away with.

His eyes opened. He could see over the huts again. The weirwood tree could be stood far away in the centre of the town. Karl looked up. The small man's face poked out between some leaves. "Silly Man! You are him again. Such fun." The small man was behind him suddenly. A small white ball in his hand. He pressed the object into Karl's palm and closed Karl's fingers around it. "Silly Man came here for a reason, no?" Karl nodded. "Take flight then Silly Bird."

The small man wandered back into the town. "Wait, we haven't discussed terms yet!"

"We don't need to. You already know them, don't you Silly Man?" The small man chuckled He waved an arm and he and the town vanished. Karl was left stood on the shore of the island. His rowboat was on the sand beside him and the small white ball was enclosed in his fist. Karl climbed into the boat carefully. He took the small white ball and touched it to the water. It felt warmer. He put into his pocket and took up oars.

It was shortly after dawn when he arrived at the fort that he had left on the shore of the Gods' Eye. He had been gone for two weeks. Apparently everyday that he was gone a raven had come from the island and commanded them to wait. It had spoken in his own voice, he was told. While he was away two of the Night's Watch recruits had tried to swim away from the camp. He had seen one of them as he rowed in. The other was in slightly deeper water and so his head hadn't been visible.

Karl ordered the group to begin the journey northwards. He would ride to King's Landing alone to deliver the terms of the Green Men. Then he would ride back to meet with them. He expected that as a single rider he could ride faster and meet with them again on the Kingsroad somewhere near Castle Cerwyn.

Karl and the rest of the men parted ways on the Kingsroad to the east of Harrenhal to the howling of wolves.


	27. A Weakness For Adventurers

She exaggerated her moans of pleasure as she ate the simple stew. She grinned across at him. She knew that her moans were having an effect on him. Arianne rested her head on his shoulder as she looked into the fire. Yorwick smiled down at her. They had found a balance between her flirtatious affections and his preferred, softer, more gentle comfort. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, they would arrive in Plankytown the next day.

"Why are you coming with us?" She nuzzled into him some more.

"I've a weakness for adventure." She turned her head and kissed his shoulder. "And for adventurers." A sultry grin shone up at Yorwick. He chuckled and pulled her tighter to him. "How long are we going to be in Plankytown for?"

"Quite some time I expect."

"What's our disguise?" He looked down at her quizzically. She rolled her eyes. "Father knows we're going to Plankytown and if we're there for," She began to imitate his voice, "'Quite some time', then that means father has 'quite some time' to search for us." Yorwick nodded and looked into the crackling flames in front of them. Brandon was looking at them pointedly. Yorwick quirked an eyebrow. "Perhaps husband and wife?" she kissed his neck, nibbling softly.

He groaned. Brandon nodded in approval. "Yes, my beautiful wife." Yorwick took a hold of Arianne's face and kissed her softly. She giggled at him.

"What are we doing in Plankytown?"

Yorwick tensed up. This could be problematic. She would have to be told, that was after all a large part of their agreement that led to her helping them to escape. Magic, however, was forbidden by the Faith of the Seven. Only the Gods had the right to such powers, or so the Septons said. In Dorne that meant that the practise of magic was outlawed. Yet another issue that the Reach and Dorne disputed over. The Citadel had all but demanded that the Hightowers, then the Gardiners, then the Tyrells, permit magic in their lands, for the purposes of study, of course.

"We're looking for Water Witches." She withdrew from him and looked at him with a shocked expression. "Lord Ironfur believes that the old magics are awakening and he has sent myself and the men to Plankytown to see if there are any Water Witches being born amongst the Orphans of the Greenblood." He fixed his gaze on the fire, having seen Arianne's disapproving face. "Their blood is closest to the Rhoynar, so its more likely that if there are Water Witches they'll be amongst them."

"Magic is illegal." She whispered harshly, angrily. "You've tricked me! This isn't some bold adventure, you're just criminals, the lot of you!" She stood up. Brandon had already drawn his sword.

"You can't be leaving now Princess. We can't let you bring down your father's justice on us." Arianne's own sword was with her horse several metres away. She couldn't get to it before Brandon got to her. Yorwick stood up and reached for her hand. She slapped him, hard.

"Arianne." He whispered to her softly. A tear was running down her cheek. She turned her face away from him. "Arianne, please."

"I thought you cared about me. I thought you were honest, a good man."

"I do care. Please my Princess, my Arianne. Let me explain." She didn't respond. "The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch sent a letter to Lord Ironfur. He showed me it." Yorwick took a step closer. "He says men are rising from death and attacking the Night's Watch." Another step. He was back within arm's reach of her. "The Old Magics are awakening and we can't fight against the White Walkers without magics of our own." He was stood directly behind her now. "Some magics are evil, yes. But the Dornish don't know the Long Night. I've seen the runes in the Great Hall of the Ironmountain. I've seen the huge stone carvings, in the dim light inside the mountain it looks like you're really there." She had turned to look into his eyes. She was searching for something. He raised a hand to her cheek. Yorwick's thumb brushed away a tear. "The Ironmountain stood before the Long Night, her people still remember it and when I look at those carvings," Yorwick shivered, "I pray that I never have to experience a Long Night for real."

"You're looking for good magic?" She whispered, she sounded confused. Yorwick nodded. Arianne's gaze followed the nod of his head. She was still frowning. She looked away. "I can't." The whisper was barely audible, it was certainly not meant to be heard. Yorwick pulled her close to him. She buried her face into his neck. A sob came from her. "I don't know." Another sob. "What do I do?"

Yorwick rubbed circles into her back and began to pull her down into the sand. Her body lay beside his as they rested in the sand on their sides. She held him tight to her as he held her tight to him. They stayed like that for quite some time. Eventually her breathing evened out. He continued to rub circles into her back and whispered comfort into her ear. Her eyes were still open but were unfocused as she thought through what she had heard, and what she had believed all of her life.

The sun began to rise, Yorwick was hesitant to wake her. She'd fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder in the early hours of the morning. Sleep had given her face an unworried look, as if all the troubles that had arisen that night no longer had any meaning. What Yorwick wouldn't do to see her so peaceful, he couldn't imagine. So when Brandon came over with Yorwick and Arianne's horses, Yorwick had told him and the others to ride on ahead. They'd need to integrate themselves into the Orphans separately anyway. Brandon had grunted and frowned disapprovingly. "We should travel together, she still hasn't decided if she's going to run and bring her father's men."

Yorwick looked down at the mess of dark brown hair splayed across his chest. "Go Brandon, she'll get me killed or she won't. I'll have to live or die with it as it comes." Brandon had grunted again but this time with a feral smile. Brandon mounted his horse and he and the men set off on their way south.

It was late in the morning when Arianne finally awoke. She pulled away quickly as if burnt and she looked away from him embarrassed. Yorwick couldn't help the pout that fell across his lips or the sadness that crept into him like a chill. She looked around clearly taking in the fact that the others were gone. Her eyes wandered back to him. Yorwick smiled at her softly, she looked wonderful with her hair all a mess around her face and bleary eyes blinking away sleep. He'd never had the chance to see her like this before, she was always the one who burst into his chambers and woke him.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Only a few hours, they left at sunrise. It'll be nearly the sun's peak soon though." She leant towards him and kissed him passionately. Arianne grinned at him and began to pull him up towards their horses. She giggled at his dazed look.

"Well then husband, time to go find our new home. I'll tell you all about this dream I just had."


	28. When Gods War

Three horses clattered past him, only narrowly avoiding sending him to the cobbled courtyard floor. The three split up shortly after leaving the Red Keep's gates. He had seen ironfurs deflect the swing of a grown man, a knight even so, when he saw the hairs of the riders' armour whipping about as they rode Tyrion couldn't help but feel somewhat impressed. They each had an Ironfur banner as they rode through the streets.

Tyrion continued into the courtyard. He'd have to go to the city walls shortly, Stannis had arrived. Lord Idris was stood with Lady Jonella and many of his men. "Ser Boros, you and yours have the ballista on the south side of the Mud Gate. We're expecting them to head for it first since the majority of Stannis' men are going to be landing." Lord Idris pointed towards a collection of soldiers. "You've got to keep an eye to the south, Stannis' vanguard is still in the Kingswood and I don't want to deal with them scaling the walls while I'm not looking. Do you hear me?" He received nods from the group and the occasional voice of assent. "No one fires anything until Lord Tyrion commands it. He has some tricks he wants to play with and the defence of the city is under his command, he is Lord Hand after all."

"But Lord Ironfur, he's dwarven he can't fight! Surely a soldier should command." Lord Idris shook his head.

"Lord Tyrion will be there with us, you don't need to worry. If he proves to be an incapable commander then I shall command myself. But I hear he won the battle of the Green Fork personally, commanding the Clans of the Mountains of the Moon. I'm sure you all know how impressive uniting those lot is." There were no more voices of dissent. Tyrion came closer. Lord Idris looked up and saw him. "Iron fur!"

"Iron Will!" The men took arms and banners and rushed out of the keep's gate.

"Lord Tyrion." Lord Idris bowed his head.

"Lord Idris. Shall we?" Tyrion gestured towards the open gates. Lord Idris nodded. He turned to Lady Jonella who kissed him gently. She picked up a sword that had been left leaning against the wall behind them and began the climb into Maegor's Holdfast. Lord Idris sighed as she left. The walk to the Mud Gate was silent. Tyrion thought back to when Lady Sansa had wished him safety. She had claimed that he would be in her prayers but he wondered if she wasn't still wary of him.

They could see Stannis' fleet approaching in the distance. Tyrion looked to the north, his tower stood on the far bank of the Blackwater River. The chain had only been finished a few days before. The street of steel had been hard at work late into the night. Tyrion could see some of the Antler Men's heads that he had hanged still resting on spikes nearby.

The night quickly spiralled into death and blood and fire. The wildfire trap had been perfect, the vast majority of Stannis' fleet was aflame, green fire shot into the night, sparks dancing across the river. Lord Idris' men had proven to be capable archers and the ballistae and catapults that lined the walls had done admirably. Unfortunately it didn't seem to be enough. The wildfire no longer seemed to have any effect and siege weapons were landing on the shore from the ships that had remained behind. There must have been some thirty ships still waiting out beyond the range of the ballistae.

The forces on land were just as problematic. Fire arrows littered the sky and flew over the walls without rest. Lord Idris had mentioned that he had planned for men to deal with any fires that arose but Tyrion only had to look behind him to see that the fires were growing numerous. Many of the City Guard were dying on the walls to arrow fire around them.

Then matters had turned to disaster, Cersei, fool that she is, summoned Joffrey off of the walls. Many of the men were beginning to waver. The dead were tumbling from the walls. Something would have to be done.

A great roar sounded from the south. Lord Idris turned to the south with surprise. Mutterings ran along the walls, this couldn't be a good thing, perhaps Stannis' Rhilor'i followers had brought an unknown beast from Essos. With the roar came thunder. A storm swelled over Blackwater Bay. Lord Idris began to mutter to himself.

"Lord Tyrion, do you know any old Valyrian songs." Tyrion looked up at the young lord with surprise. What sort of question was that? He shook his head 'no'. "Then we shall have to hope the Gods enjoy it when we sing in the Old Tongue. A shame really, Valyrian priests were known as Stormsingers, I assume the Gods of Storm enjoyed the sound of their language." He turned and began to walk down along the walls. What was he on about?

Lord Idris returned quickly. He raised an arm and the Ironfur men all along the wall began to sing. "Shai vay ecador, va gey da ecador!" The sound rumbled out into the cacophony below. They beat swords onto shields and stamped on the hard stone battlements. Tyrion look about in confusion. "Sing to the Gods Lord Tyrion, they've come for blood! Shai vay bi atera ecador!"

Tyrion didn't recognise the song at all. Or even the language. Ser Boros began to sing along to the Ironfur, he clearly didn't know the song either. He sang behind them slightly and fumbled the words, mumbling where he had missed what was sang. It was a few moments before Tyrion realised that he was doing much the same. The sea became swollen around them and dragged some of the enemy siege equipment away into her depths. The storm grew ever more fierce. Fire arrows were extinguished before they had even left their bows.

"Shai vay teravay yar bellador!" Men all along the walls began to sing, repeating the words of these foreign men. The courtyard behind the Mud Gate was filled with men, who appeared to be peasants flying poorly made Ironfur banners, who took up the tune. Badly but alas it seemed to suit Lord Idris. "Yar eciri vas eter sa vay yar, ecador shai vay yar!"

Beasts made of fire leapt from the Kingswood and began to burn men alive below the walls. Stannis' men were fleeing from the onslaught. Tyrion could only just make out the men wearing ironfurs who had stepped out of the forest. They were stood in line with some smaller folk, but no less brave. They were fighting with fervour, fiercely. Another great roar.

The beasts of fire seemed to disappear as they formed, becoming nothing more than smoke. Lord Idris began to laugh. "Their Fire God can't protect them from everything. Yo eciri vas eter sa vay yar, ecador shai vay yar!" Lord Idris clasped Ser Boros' arm. "You've got my archers, stay on the wall and give them Hell. I'm going to go meet up with our reinforcements." Lord Idris called out along the wall to his men and they ran down the stairs and formed up in the courtyard behind the gate. "Iron fur!"

"Iron will!" The Ironfur men burst out of the gates and began to carve a path through the men before them. Tyrion could see some of them being felled, an arrow to the eye, a mailed fist to the side of the face. But the vast majority formed up into a shield wall between the reinforcements and Stannis' men.

"Let's sing these bastards to their sleep!" Ser Boros began to sing the song of the warrior. Tyrion knew this one well enough, he had after all tried to be a septon once. He almost shivered as he remembered what he had been willing to give up. The men sang loudly, they too were familiar with the song. The Ironfur archers, however stayed faithful to their Lord's song.

"Shai vaybi abay da ecador! Shayr vay beravay yar belador!" A great thunderclap sounded and the remainders of Stannis' fleet began to fall to the force of the storm, some were thrown into the cliffs on the south side of Blackwater Bay, others into each other. One ship, Tyrion saw, folded into itself as it was swallowed by the waves. Perhaps Lord Idris was correct, the Gods may just have come. He would have to visit the new weirwood tree Lady Sansa had taken him to see planted.

The clash of steel rang out. Stannis' men had retaken the offensive, a ram at the Mud Gate and his forces were forcibly assaulting Lord Idris' position. Ser Boros looked down at Tyrion. "My Lord, Lord Idris needs help. His reinforcements are mighty fierce I'll give them that. And skilful enough." Tyrion glanced over. One of the shorter men in a thick, heavy cloak had driven a spear through one of the much larger Rhilor'i. "But he needs help."

Tyrion looked about him. It was a fair assessment but at the moment the walls were manned by peasants, Ironfur archers and Ser Boros' contingent of Lyddens. a scant two hundred men at most. Although twice that number seemed to be waiting below with quickly made spears. Tyrion nodded. These peasants hadn't come for Joffrey, when Joffrey fled to the Red Keep so had many of the Lannister garrison. They were here for Lord Idris and his Ironfurs, it was well known that Joffrey wasn't responsible for the fact that they were being fed. Lord Idris' men fed them and protected them from the occasional issue with a Gold Cloak.

Tyrion swiped up an Ironfur banner, leaving a Lannister banner resting beside it. "Ser Boros. The command of the defence of King's Landing is yours." He went down the steps, Ser Merwyn and Ser Manden followed behind him. "Lord Ironfur is in danger, Stannis' men are about to overwhelm him. He needs our help. Who's coming to help him?!"

"We can't go out the gates. They're at the gates!"

Tyrion looked around at the men below. They seemed to be unsure now that actual fighting had come to them. "They say that I am a Half-man. What does that make the lot of you?!" Mutters rang out. "I know a way, we'll come out behind them. This is your city Stannis means to sack! That's your gate he's ramming! If he gets in it will be your houses he burns, your gold he steals, your women he will rape!" The peasants seemed to harden before him. They readied their makeshift weapons. The sound of the ram battering the gates. "Those are brave men knocking at our door! Let's go kill them!"

The men began to cheer. Ser Boros was looking at him approvingly. Tyrion could still hear singing coming from the walls above. Both the Ironfurs' song and the Father's. It was somewhat amusing that Lord Idris was equal to the Father himself tonight.

Soon they'd emerged from their tunnels and were viciously hacking at the enemy. More peasants were dying than Rhilor'i, it was true but Tyrion made sure to be especially fierce to make up for it. His axe had claimed at least nine legs alone. Tyrion looked up to see the Ironfur men had broken their shield wall in favour of slaughtering Stannis' men who were caught between the two battlefronts.

One such of Stannis' men was stabbed through by a peasant before he had the chance to swing at Tyrion. Tyrion looked up and thanked the young boy before rushing onwards into battle again. Another of Stannis' men was felled. Ser Merwyn was stood in front of Tyrion now. He grinned up at the man, Tyrion could understand why Jaime got such pleasure from battle. As horrifying as it was to hear men screaming and occasionally see someone legless. Tyrion was unsure if it was his axe that had claimed those particular legs.

Then Tyrion knew nothing but a deep dark black.


	29. Honours, Titles And Lordships

The battle had ended shortly after Lord Tyrion's peasants had driven their makeshift spears into the rear of Stannis' line. Idris wasn't so foolish as to think that Stannis was dealt with entirely. They'd seen him escape the fighting. Lord Tywin had ridden onto the field of battle just as the battle was concluded. Idris had laughed as the Lannister army arrived. He wondered if they had waited for the proper moment.

"My Lord!" A call from Idris' right. He turned and ran to where the call had come from. Lord Tyrion's squire was coated in blood, his spear was snapped in two and he held Lord Tyrion in his arms. Lord Tyrion was now lacking a nose and soon, if nothing was done, he'd be lacking his life.

"Take the wounded to the maesters! All of the wounded!" He took Lord Tyrion into his own arms and rushed into the city, Ser Boros had already had the gates opened. Men were cheering all about him as the Ironfurs began to haul the injured into the safety of the city. Many were peasants from the poorer parts of the city. They had risen to his call admirably. There were still spirals of smoke rising into the air above King's Landing. The cheers followed him as he ran.

The maesters began their work dutifully as soon as Lord Tyrion was presented to them. Jonella and the other ladies of the court had come down from Maegor's Holdfast. Lord Tywin had already arrived on his white horse and his brilliant gold and red armour. Lannister men and banners were already flooding the keep. Idris gave Jonella a quick, emotion-filled kiss before running back out to the Mud Gate. He was pleased to see Lady Sansa close to Jonella's side.

For the next week wearing an ironfur would get Idris' men mobbed by flirtatious young women and merchants would bring gifts to him and Jonella on their walks. Occasionally they'd see Ironfur banners hanging from a house or a shop. The quality of the banners was improving at an impressive rate. No doubt a few businesses had chosen to embrace the new found popularity of the Ironfur in King's Landing.

On one such walk Idris and Jonella went to see the repairs occurring at both the Mud Gate and the docks. They had been regular visitors at the waterfront before on account of Jonella's fascination with ships and the sailors were more than enthusiastic to be seen with the Lord and Lady Ironfur. At the Mud Gate they found crowds would form around them, cheering them. Idris had thought the men were exaggerating when he said that their efforts to rebuild the gatehouse were being overshadowed by the troubles caused by the crowd. He tried to persuade the crowd to let the men go about their work. It astounded him how silent the crowd went as he spoke. It surprised him even more when they all dispersed but for a few who went to aid in the rebuilding work.

At the end of that week Lord Tywin and the boy king held a court session about the events of the Battle of Blackwater Bay. The first matter of the court was brought by Ser Garlan Tyrell. "Your Grace. I ask that you take my sister, Margaery as your bride. To bind House Tyrell and all of the Reach to yourself through marriage would be a great honour."

"Ser Garlan." The boy king pretended to protest. "I am already betrothed to the Lady Sansa. Surely in the sight of the Gods it would be a crime to marry your sister." The High Septon stepped forward. Idris could hear Jonella whispering to Lady Sansa that she must look to be faithful to the betrothal for now. He glanced over, the worry on Lady Sansa's face seemed real enough.

"Your Grace. I have conferred with many wise septons and septas." The High Septon spoke more to the crowded throne room than to the boy king. "We are clear that, as Lady Sansa's father is a self-confessed traitor and as her brother fights now in rebellion against the crown, the betrothal would be better broken than kept in the eyes of the Seven your Grace."

"Then who can speak against the Gods!" the boy king looked over at Lady Sansa before locking eyes with Idris. "Ser Garlan, it would delight me to marry your sister, they say she is the most beautiful woman in all of the seven kingdoms, besides my mother of course."

Lord Tywin was next. He stepped up to the base of the Iron Throne and the boy king climbed down to his grandfather. "Lord Tywin Lannister's army came and saved this city when it most needed it. Without my Grandfather's aid the battle would have certainly been lost. I name Lord Tywin as the Saviour of the City!" Murmurs rang out in the court. Many sounded unhappy. More than a few courtiers glanced over at Idris and the mention of Lord Tyrion was not uncommon. "Lord Tywin shall also be serving as Hand of the King." Applause followed this announcement, although Lord Tywin had already been named as Hand of the King several months before.

Ser Mandon Moore had died in the battle so Ser Loras Tyrell was granted a place in the Kingsguard, his father Lord Mace Tyrell was granted the title of Master of Ships and a seat on the Small Council. Idris wondered how Lord Tyrell could possibly take that as an honour. The entire Royal Fleet was currently ashes and cinders at the bottom of Blackwater Bay. It would be both costly and time consuming.

Many other honours, titles and lordships were granted to various men. Idris didn't fail to notice that all of them were members of Lord Tywin's army. Finally some of Lord Tyrion's allies began to be rewarded. His personal guard became Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, it was a shame Lord Tyrion was still comatose in his bed. Idris had visited regularly, although far less so than Lady Sansa, she was already there whenever he went to visit. The maesters said that he would awaken but they could not say how long the wait would be.

"Your Grace has been very generous today, I am honoured that he would name myself as Saviour of the City but I, and many of the men and women here today are aware that Lord Idris Ironfur's men stood against Stannis' Baratheon's forces bravely and boldly. Without them I fear the city would not have lasted long enough to see my own men save the city. I invite Lord Idris to take a place in the Small Council as an advisor to the King and to his Lord Hand." Idris walked into the open space before the Iron Throne and bowed his head to the boy king.

"Your offer is generous Lord Hand. But I fear that I shall not be able to remain away from my lands for too much longer. The winds of Winter are already blowing and I fear that there may not be enough food for my people if I am not there to oversee the harvests and their storage before Winter does finally... arrive." Lord Tywin looked down from his new seat beside the boy king.

"Nevertheless, while you are still with us, Lord Ironfur, you shall serve the realm faithfully, I am sure."

Idris bowed his head. "You honour me, my Lord Hand." Idris straightened and turned to leave. He could almost hear the boy king grinding his teeth, infuriated by Idris' lack of respect. Idris saw Torrhen and his small companions behind Jonella. He nodded towards the group and the Ironfurs all began to leave. Not without some relief, they had been stood, or in Jonella's case sat, for hours waiting for all the pretentiousness to end.

When Idris closed his door he smiled at Jonella, who had laid down onto the bed and was wiggling her feet in the air all while groaning. He chuckled as he passed her, tickling one of her feet and darting out of reach. He drew an knife and cut his palm before holding the dripping hand over a small pot. The sapling within eagerly drank the droplets of blood as they fell. When it had had its fill Idris withdrew his hand and winced as he bound it in a rag that he had left nearby. Jonella was looking over at him. He clambered into bed and kissed her softly. It would be late in the night when sleep claimed them both.

She responded as eagerly to his kiss as the weirwood sapling had to his blood.


	30. Dreams Of Myth And Magic

Torrhen had set up several cots in the barracks, the ones that the Ironfur men were using, for the Children. It was near a miracle that they had not been noticed as he smuggled them past the guards and crowds into the city. They had to wear heavy, woolen, hooded robes whenever they left the safety of the barracks as Torrhen felt that no-one outside of the Ironfur party could be trusted. They would even need to be wary of the Lydden men.

The Children had not been making it easier to protect them. They wandered the castle and city freely and seemed not to care if someone found them. Some would visit the Godswood while others would watch a court session and yet others would be taking in the markets. Torrhen had, however, found that the wares of the Children were profitable at market and had helped them build a small stall. He hoped that having a business to manage and care for would keep them out of trouble.

Lord Ironfur had met with Godsblood several times. Torrhen had sat in for the first meeting but Godsblood was adept enough at Common to have the meetings with Lord Ironfur alone. Neither leader had told him of the outcomes of those meetings but he was sure that they would come to some agreement along the lines of the clan living at the Ironmountain and helping Lord Ironfur to build an army to defeat the coming White Walkers.

Torrhen turned the corner of a corridor in the Red Keep. He ran forwards, his sword drawn. Lord Tyrion had awoken only the day before but it would seem he was wandering the castle already. Spears, a Child named for his collection of wicked dragonglass spears, was stood before Lord Tyrion without his hood up. Lord Tyrion was gazing at the form before him in shock. He glanced up and saw Torrhen running forwards. Lord Tyrion took a step backwards.

Clicks and chirps came from Spears. Torrhen stopped beside him. "You took down his hood?" Torrhen pointed his blade at Lord Tyrion. The little man was looking for an escape.

"I did. It is much too warm inside to be wandering around with a hood up." Torrhen pressed his sword's point to Lord Tyrion's chest. He took a step back. Spears whistled. Torrhen glanced back at the diminutive being. Spears began to weave together the sounds that made up the Children's Tongue. Lord Tyrion was looking between the two eagerly. "You can speak their language! Can all of the Ironfur? Are there many Children at the Ironmountain?" He stepped forwards, curiosity reigning within him.

He stopped when Torrhen pushed him with the tip of his sword. "That's enough." Torrhen reached down and pulled Spears' hood back up. "You saw nothing. If you can't remember that, I'll gut you." Lord Tyrion was silent. "Can you remember that?"

"Remember that I saw nothing?" Lord Tyrion sounded amused. "Of course." He bowed lowly having pushed the point of Torrhen's sword to one side. "Your little friend here, was never here." The little lord turned and left, whistling as he went. Spears looked up at Torrhen.

"You shouldn't let people do that. If they see you they might kill you." Spears babbled, much like a stream or brook, in reply. Torrhen rolled his eyes, picked up the light body and carried him up to the barracks. Perhaps they'd listen to Godsblood.

It was only the next day that there was knock at the door to the barracks. Torrhen picked up his sword from beside his bed and unsheathed it. At first glance there was no-one outside of the door. Then a voice came up from below Torrhen's line of view. "May I come in?" Lord Tyrion was smirking up at him.

Torrhen looked behind him before growling. "These aren't the Lannister barracks." A whisper came from the back of the barracks. Torrhen glanced over at Godsblood. He was smiling. "Fine." He pulled the little lord into the room and shut the door. Lord Tyrion landed with an oomph on his front. He looked back at Torrhen with laughter in his eyes and a tight grimace on his face. The fall likely hurt his scarred face.

"These are the Children." Lord Tyrion looked about the room. "You act like you are their mother." He chuckled. Godsblood did as well. "You speak Common?" Godsblood came forwards. The other Children had dragonglass knives at the ready. Lord Tyrion seemed to understand his position and stayed still as Godsblood ran a hand over his face. There was a quick wince and Lord Tyrion flinched away from the pain as Godsblood sharp claw grazed the scar behind where his nose used to be.

Godsblood spoke in the Children's Tongue, he wove together the songs of birds and the fluttering of leaves. Torrhen began to translate. "Perhaps I do Little Lion. Why have you come to find us?" Lord Tyrion looked confused.

"If you speak Common then why speak through someone else?" Godsblood remained silent. Lord Tyrion sighed. "Curiosity. Some maesters claim that the Children never existed, others that they were a tribe of ordinary men, and yet others that they faded from the world many thousand years ago. It would seem that they were all wrong. I have a fondness for the old stories, stories of Valyria and the Rhoyne, of Asshai and Yi Ti, of Gogossos and of course of the First Men and the Children." Godsblood looked to Torrhen.

He tried to explain what Lord Tyrion had meant, and who he was talking about. The Children of Westeros had been separate from the civilisations of men in Essos and Sothoryos for millennia, none of the peoples except for the Asshai'i were known to the Children. The Children had stories of the Asshai'i from even when they lived in Essos in the great northern forests of the Kingdom of Ifequevron.

"What will you do now? Are only your eyes curious? Perhaps the Little Lion seeks to test our strength against his own." Lord Tyrion stepped back hastily and fell into a cot. He shook his head. This was a dangerous place to make enemies and he knew it.

"Now? I shall return to my bed and I shall dream dreams of myths and magic."


	31. The Worth Of A Dragon

She presented him with a small bag. The coins within clinked against one another. Yorwick looked into their new treasury and was surprised by what he found. The small bag was home to a collection of golden coins. He looked up at her. She had her lower lip pinched between her teeth. "Is it not enough?" Yorwick chuckled, she was serious.

"My Princess, I can count the number of times I have held a gold dragon on the fingers of one hand. This bag alone is worth more than my family's entire vault at home. I trust you have some stags and stars as well?" She shook her head. Yorwick frowned. "I doubt there is much in this town that you can buy for a gold dragon."

Arianne looked confused. "But you said that the bag is worth more than your family has altogether." Yorwick sighed.

"Yes but..." He glanced down at the bag. "The older houses and the more powerful houses deal in gold dragons because it is easier for them to do so. For those of us who aren't so wealthy, a gold dragon is of little use. There are hundreds of stags to a dragon and a hundred stags will feed us for a week. To pay someone with a gold dragon, there's nothing here that is worth enough that we can use a gold dragon to buy it."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." Her head had drooped down. Yorwick smiled and pulled her into him. He kissed her softly raising her face to meet his again.

"We can use the dragons to purchase a nice house. Then I'll just work to keep us fed." Arianne nodded as well.

"Yes, and I'll work too. You don't have to do everything." Yorwick frowned.

"What will you do? You've been a Princess all of your life. Do you have a trade that is useful amongst the commonfolk?" She looked at him for a short time before sighing and looking away. He pulled her close again. "Arianne, I don't mean to trap you in our house or to belittle you. Of course if you want to help, you can help. We just need to make sure that what you do does help." She nodded her head against him, her face pressed itself into his neck.

They stayed like that, holding one another just on the precipice of their adventure together. They could see the town below them, it sprawled out along the Greenblood, the buildings all seemed to be close to the river causing the town to be narrow and long as it chased the waters. Finally they rode down to the river below. It was not long before they found themselves two dragons poorer and in a comfortable home.

Arianne was sat above the river, her feet dangled into the currents and caused a wake to form, dancing its way down river. Yorwick came up behind her, she was still upset that he had accused her of being useless. He sat behind her and wrapped his arms around her. His feet drifted just above the surface of the water. The house was of a modest size and rather than the garden that was customary elsewhere it had this small dock that was in essence and wooden platform behind the house that extended over the water, more so than the rest of the house already did. There were thick stone stilts holding the house out of the river.

They sat together listening to the waters rush past them. "Should I pray to the Old Gods?" She barely spoke, her words were snatched away by the river almost as sson as they were said. Yorwick kissed her hair, which he had been running his hands through.

"It is entirely your choice. I shan't make you choose any particular faith to follow. Here in Plankytown there are still some who practise the old Rhoynar faith." She nodded slightly.

"I can't follow the New Gods. Not if I am to stay here with you and help you. It would be betraying them, I am betraying them. How could I truly trust in them and betray them so willingly?" Arianne shook her head slowly. "Teach me. Please. I want to know your Gods, your ways." She twisted in his lap so that she was knelt before him, her eyes looked into his searchingly. Yorwick nodded, refusing to break eye contact, and kissed her softly. The kiss quickly grew more passionate. Their bed was well and truly broken-in that night, repeatedly.

The next morning Arianne had been quiet and had had her lower lip trapped between her teeth almost whenever Yorwick saw her. Had she regretted giving herself to him the previous night? Finally, after they had eaten a simple lunch from the food they had with them when they were travelling, he chose to confront her.

"Arianne?" She turned to face him. "Is something wrong? Did I hurt you last night?" She shook her head and smiled at him.

"No. Not at all." She grinned at him. "I rather enjoyed it actually." One of her hands came forward and draped itself on his chest. She smiled at him seductively.

"You've been rather quiet today." He pressed on, despite the rather attractive tangent she was offering, he wanted to be sure she was alright. She sighed and looked away.

"We don't have any moon tea..." Yorwick flushed. "and I don't know where I could get some."

Yorwick took a step back. He whispered in shock. "You would kill our child?" Arianne's face snapped back to him. She wore an expression of confusion. She nodded slowly, fear sank into her eyes. Yorwick half wondered what it was that she was afraid of. Yorwick took another step back. He shook his head wildly.

Then he felt her touch on his arm. He wanted to pull away, to peel her grip from him. But he looked up into her face and saw her tears. "Yorwick, please. I am sorry. I just..." She shook her own head, tears dripping onto her clothes. "Other men, they want me to drink it, they usually bring it to me and tell me to drink it. Other times I drink it myself. I'm sorry." She pulled Yorwick's tense form to her. "Please." Yorwick began to melt against her.

"I don't know." She just held him. "It would be your child too. Even as a bastard, it would be ours." He pulled her tighter, perhaps his grip was marking her, he couldn't tell, perhaps her didn't care.

"I won't drink it." She whispered it into his ear before kissing just behind it, suckling lightly at a point that she knew he would enjoy. He shivered under her touch. Then suddenly he tensed and she was in his arms, above the wooden floor.

She laughed as he carried her away from the small cooking area that held half-prepared ingredients for their dinner.


	32. A Girl's Fury

His fever was lightening. The dreams that had been plaguing him and tormenting him had begun to fade. At long last his eyes fluttered open. The pain was excruciating, he regretted his new found awakefulness. A scream was torn from his mouth. Then a small, soft hand gripped his tightly, the pain seemed to fade as he focused on the sensation. His eyes drifted down to the joining of their hands. The person beside him was calling something, the sound was echocing painfully and entirely impossible to understand. Tears burnt their way down his cheeks.

"Tyrion." She whispered to him. Another small, soft hand touched his cheek. It brushed away the tears. His eyes focused on her face, her bright blue eyes were filled with concern and worry and her auburn hair was mussed slightly. It seemed that she too had only just awoken.

"Sansa?" She nodded and smiled softly. She kissed his cheek gently.

"Sleep now Tyrion, you need to rest." He shook his head, he couldn't go back to those dreams, she didn't understand. A maester gripped Tyrion's face and began to drip something onto his tongue. Tyrion tried to fight the darkness that threatened to envelop him. The feeling of Sansa's hand in his was the last thing that he felt, the worry that perhaps he was gripping her too tightly was his last thought.

It was four days later that Tyrion awoke again. It felt as if it had been only a moment. There had been no dreams this time. When he woke he felt a weight on his abdomen, it was somewhat heavy. There was some difficulty to be found in raising his head to look down at the weight, he had never felt so physically weak.

An auburn mound was resting on his body, his hand still tightly in the grasp of another. He chuckled slightly as he watched a drop of drool fall from her open mouth. She must be exhausted to ever risk him seeing her in such an unladylike position. The force of his chuckle seemed to have shaken her slightly, she began to stir. Tyrion could have died a happy man for the joy in her eyes when she saw him looking down at her.

"Tyrion?" He nodded at her, smiling softly. She grinned back in return. Before a frown rested on her face, a hand went up to her chin. Tyrion couldn't help but laugh, she looked so adorably upset. She turned away. Tyrion pulled on her hand and she glanced back. Tyrion could see the corners of her mouth were turned up. They spent much of the morning in bed, Sansa above the sheets. They would talk about the news that Sansa had heard while he slept. She had admitted to refusing her lessons while he was abed.

After Sansa, Lord Idris was the first to find him awake. Sansa mentioned that Lord Idris had visited regularly. Lord Idris brought more detailed news, Tyrion was glad to hear that the younger man had been granted a seat at the Small Council. He was also amused to hear that he was no longer on the council, although he was sure his father would no doubt place him back into office. Tyrion wondered if that would please him or not. It was also Lord Idris that had mentioned Tyrion's new face.

Previously Sansa had made no mention of his lack of a nose, beyond answering his questions about his difficulty breathing. When Lord Idris mentioned it however, Tyrion felt the need to survey the damage himself. The mirror was not kind with its honesty. His nose had been nearly entirely removed, a thick scar also cut across his face. He quickly became sullen. Lord Idris had chosen to leave and inform the council and his lady wife that he had awoken. Meanwhile Sansa attempted to make him less upset about his newest deformity. "But Tyrion, it is a sign of your bravery." He sighed.

He took her hand and kissed it softly before declaring that it was time she went to her lessons. She complained mildly but went without further encouragement when Tyrion offered to walk her to the lesson himself. She had been far more stern than he had ever expected she could be and had all but demanded that he remain in bed until she had returned and deemed that he was ready to walk again.

Tyrion had never heard a girl so furious in his life as when he brought Sansa a plate of sandwiches for lunch. Yet the flush of her cheeks had been enough to inform him that she was rather pleased that he had brought her lunch even if it was "at risk of his own life" as Sansa had put it.

His father had indeed named him onto the Small Council. Tyrion was to be Master of Coin, a responsibilty that was quickly proving to be a nightmare. Littlefinger's books were impossible to follow, worse still everything Tyrion was seeing seemed to end in some debt, somewhere, to someone. The Small Council was growing increasingly frivolous in their spending as well.

One such meeting had begun rather strained. Lord Idris had wandered in with Pycelle following him closely. Their conversation was loud enough, Pycelle was complaining, once again, that Lord Idris and every Lord Ironfur before him was refusing to allow the Citadel into the Heart of the Ironmountain. Last time Pycelle had made this complaint he had accused Lord Idris of practicing forbidden black magics in there. Tyrion had smirked when Lord Idris had replied that he performed all of his black magics in the corridor in front of Pycelle's chambers.

This time however, Pycelle was accusing Lord Idris of hiding a great vault of gold in there and cheating the King of his taxes. Lord Idris sat down beside Tyrion as was his usual custom, after Small Council meetings Tyrion and Lord Idris would visit the Godswood and the weirwood sapling that Lord Idris had planted there. They took this time to discuss the previous meeting and anything of concern. On rare occasions, Tyrion even dined with Lord Idris and Lady Jonella.

"Grand Maester Pycelle. House Ironfur has been loyal to the Crown, and proven itself so many times. I do hope that you are not accusing a loyal member of the Small Council of such a serious crime as refusing to pay taxes. Especially not while Lord Tyrion is bringing us reports of extensive debts." Lord Idris looked up at the old, shrivelled man. "The Citadel, however, seems to be several years behind on her taxes. Lord Tyrion, when was the last time the Citadel paid her taxes?" Tyrion smirked.

"Why I don't recall that they have paid their taxes in two years." Pycelle began to blubber. Meanwhile Tyrion's father's fist struck the oaken table before him.

"Pycelle." His voice was filled with authority, Pycelle was silent in moments. "See to it that the Citadel pays their dues and stop accosting Lord Ironfur. I have attended six meetings of this council and six times you have entered this room with a new accusation for what Lord Ironfur keeps in his keep. I fear that the seventh meeting will only lead me to tales of a secret dragon pit deep in the mountain. Leave your curiosity out of this chamber."

That same council meeting had seen the price of Joffrey's wedding increase by four thousand dragons, Lady Margaery was not even in the city a week and already she and her grandmother, The Queen of Thorns, were proving to be demanding. Tyrion expected that he would have to speak with them himself shortly. Sansa seemed to like the young woman, perhaps she could help. He had spoken with her, when they met to discuss their half weeks, of the great expense of the wedding and of the Crown's inability to pay for it. Her insights had always proven to be well-founded. Her education was going exceptionally well, Tyrion had to admit that he had doubted the young woman's intelligence. It pleased him greatly that Lord Idris had persuaded him to invest in her education.

"Tyrion, stay." The Small Council had been dismissed. Tyrion nodded to Lord Idris, the younger man left, likely he would wait in the Godswood. When the room was empty but for himself, his father and his sister, the conversation began. "The Tyrells intend to marry Lady Sansa to their eldest son, Ser Willas, in Highgarden." Tyrion nodded slightly.

"Have they spoken with Lord Ironfur yet?" His father regarded him with an odd look.

"And why would they?" Tyrion was surprised if his father had not seen it.

"Because Lord Ironfur has a vested interest in Lady Sansa. His wife is rather close with her, I believe Lady Sansa was there at the birthing of Lady Winterbane's twins. And Lord Ironfur is one of the most powerful men in this city. I don't doubt you are aware of that." Tywin nodded in acknowledgement.

"Lord Ironfur is dangerous. That is why he is on this Council, if he has a say in constructing a new kingdom after the war then he may be less inclined to tear us down during the rebuilding." Cersei scoffed. They both turned to look at her.

"He has less than two hundred men! The gold cloaks outnumber him a score to one, if not more."

"And Stannis Baratheon outnumbered him two hundred to one. Would you like to ask him what happened when he went up against Ironfur men. Besides, the Lyddens are loyal to him as are the vast majority of the people of this city. Lord Ironfur does not have two hundred men, he has two hundred thousand."

"Two hundred thousand peasants maybe." Tywin was looking at Tyrion with that odd look again.

"Lady Sansa will not be marrying the Tyrell boy. She will be marrying you." Tyrion looked in shock.

"Me?! Joffrey has made this poor girl's life miserable since the day he took her father's head. And you're going to give her to me? That is cruel, even for you. As if she could ever be happy with a Lannister, worse still such a mishapen one!"

"Do you intend to mistreat her?" Tywin made a noise, akin to clearing his throat. "Go, tell her of your betrothal and see to it that your good friend Lord Ironfur either approves or does not interfere."

Tyrion arrived at the Godswood late. Lord Idris was still there but Tyrion did not want to speak to him. He knelt down before the young weirwood sapling, it was of a height with him already, and he began to whisper. His mouth moved, his tongue moved and all that came out were puffs of moisture, visible against the night. Autumn had settled in. Lord Idris' hand clasped Tyrion's shoulder. Tyrion looked away from the white tree, it had not yet grown enough for a face to be carved into it. "If you said your prayers more loudly then perhaps the Gods, who here are faceless, might answer you through the face that is here."

"I don't know if I'm praying."


	33. Wedding to Remember

They had met twice since Tyrion announced their betrothal at dinner. Neither time had he stayed to read with her. It was shortly after that first visit that Shae had vanished, Sansa was sure Tyrion had something to do with it, Shae had been very rude when he was there. She insulted Tyrion and dropped a full wine glass on him before Sansa ordered her to leave and regain her grace.

Sansa didn't know how to feel about this marriage, they had had a friendship before the betrothal. She was not expecting to ever fall in love with him, while they may have been rather close and she did not truly mind his twisted form or scarred face, he was a Lannister and a malformed one. She liked him, but she couldn't love him. Yet she thought that their marriage could still be happy. Many women never even met their husband before the wedding, and she enjoyed his company. She blushed and shivered as she imagined what new form that company would take.

Jonella, who had been helping her to dress, smiled behind her. She had seen Sansa glance at the bed and flush. The two babies wriggling about on the bed likely gave her even more to consider. A knock sounded against the door. Tyrion slipped into the room. Jonella grinned at seeing him covering his eyes with one hand and tightly gripping a small box in the other. "Sansa is enough dressed that you can look, Lord Tyrion." He peeked over his hand and, seeing that she was telling the truth, put the hand down to his side.

Gwyn cried out from the bed in hunger, his sister took it as a cue to fist her hand in his hair and bury her face into it. Jonella sighed, collected the twins and bowed, before leaving the pair to themselves.

"You look very handsome my lord."

Tyrion chuckled and patted himself. "Yes, the husband of your dreams." Sansa's lips turned up slightly at the sarcasm, before fixing into a frown. He was not allowed to insult her husband, especially not on her wedding day. "But you do look glorious."

"Perhaps I could accept such a compliment, if my husband had not just been insulted."

"You have a husband already? He must be tiny, I've never so much as seen him." Tyrion chuckled, Sansa couldn't resist a small smile. He came closer and offered up the small purple box. She reached for it and took the lid. There resting inside was a beautiful necklace. It looked like it was made of stars, all bound together by delicate silver thread. She looked at him in surprise, even for a Lannister this must have been costly. He seemed to understand.

"It is an old family heirloom, we've had it for quite some time. The stones came from a kingdom that stood in the Shadowlands before the Shadow fell on those lands. Or at least that's what the stories say." She smiled at him and knelt down so that he could fix it about her neck. He reached around at sealed the clasp, the stones were warm against her skin yet the silver was cool. Tyrion reached out a hand, Sansa took it happily. Perhaps it would not be a marriage of love but she could certainly be happy.

When they reached the Sept of Baelor, Tyrion left to take his place before the High Septon. Suddenly Joffrey was beside her, his hand tightly gripping her wrist. "Your Grace! What are you doing?" She tried to pull away.

"Your traitor father is dead. As King I am the father of the realm. It is my duty to give you away." He pulled sharply and she followed beside him. His grip was hurting. She was beginning to get unusually hot. The pain seemed to lessen. Finally he released her in the centre of the Sept. As he left he took her Stark marked cloak as well as the stool that had been there to help Tyrion cloak her.

The High Septon was wearing his crystal crown and rainbows were arcing though the air around him. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." Tyrion glanced up at her, his Lannister cloak in hand, then at the space where the stool had been. Sansa smiled at him and curtsied lowly to the High Septon. She felt the weight of the cloak on her back, there was some comfort in knowing that she was protected now. Of course she knew she had some protection before, Ser Jaime was still imprisoned by Robb, Lord Idris and Jonella had chosen to take her under their wing and Tyrion had come to her aid as well. But none of that had had the same ceremony to it, she had a symbol of her safety now. Would she be able to keep this cloak?

She stood again and turned to face Tyrion. She took his outreached hand into hers and waited patiently as the High Septon fumbled with the light blue ribbon that he was trying to tie about their hands. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity."

Tyrion squeezed her hand slightly as they began their vows. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days." Then the pair had to stand through a few hours of prayers led by the High Septon. Sansa had forgotten many of the prayers of the Faith of the Seven. She had abandoned them and sought out the Old Gods again, the Old Gods had protected Robb so far and it was the Old Gods who Jonella respected. Sansa had even heard that at the Battle of Blackwater the Old Gods had joined the fray, destroying several of Stannis' ships. However neither Lord Idris nor Jonella were willing to say for sure if it had been the Gods or not.

The palanquin that carried them back to the Red Keep was small. Tyrion had removed the ribbon from their hands and kissed her palm gently as soon as they entered it. For the rest of the journey he was massaging her hand free from the pain of having been bound so tightly for so long.

The feast had gone quickly. Tyrion drank very little, which surprised her. He usually drank more wine at dinner and this was a feast on his wedding day, surely he had an excuse for some drunkenness, though it certainly pleased her that Tyrion would choose to remain sober. She did not enjoy it when he got drunk at dinner. Their conversation was light and kept away from what would happen later that night. As Sansa looked around, she caught sight of one of the Lydden knights drinking jug after jug. Joffrey was sat beside him, attempting to keep up. Tyrion smiled beside her.

"Lord Idris wanted to keep Joffrey busy so he couldn't cause a mess for our wedding. He felt that mentioning King Robert's fondness for drinking contests would be enough." Sansa only nodded. Lord Idris seemed to whisper something into the knight's ear and the knight collapsed onto the table and began to snore. Joffrey stood up and began to cheer for himself. There was some polite applause from nearby and some of the lords were cheering.

And then he began to approach. "It is time for the bedding!" Tyrion stood up quickly and gave her his hand. She took it and stood as well. "Come everyone, pick her up and carry her to her wedding bed! Get rid of her gown, she won't be needing it any longer! Ladies attend to my uncle, he isn't heavy!" Joffrey laughed at his own joke. The lords began to approach them.

Then Sansa was in the air. Lord Idris had appeared behind her and scooped her into his arms. Several Lydden knights and Ironfur men helped him to raise her above their heads. A rather foul song began to ring out into the hall as they marched quickly down a corridor. She twisted to look behind her and saw Tyrion. A few ladies had chosen to carry him, Sansa recognised one as being a member of the Tyrell party. Jonella and the twins had departed earlier, she and Tyrion had thanked her for her gift. Although Sansa had been fuming that Jonella would give her a basket of baby clothes that were already too small for Gwyn and Alys. The twins had grown exceptionally fast, Sansa wasn't sure she was ready for any children of her own.

After the men had deposited her into the new bedchambers and Tyrion had stumbled through the door without his doublet, they sat at the table and Tyrion poured them both a small glass of wine. Sansa smiled at him and took a hand into her own. Tyrion was looking across at her happily. She had pulled him up and spun him around, despite spending so much time in his company Sansa was still easily affected by wine. She giggled before letting him go. Tyrion went over to a dresser. Sansa began to slip off her gown.

"No, Sansa." She looked over at him quizzically. He had pulled out another doublet. "It isn't time for that yet." She pulled the gown back up her shoulder. Then a knock came at the door. Tyrion's squire, Pod, opened the door. Sansa giggled as he entered with a hand on his eyes as Tyrion had done earlier. Tyrion pulled her forwards and her giggling slowly faded. He was smiling back at her as they walked.

When they arrived at the Godswood she saw a clay face hanging from a branch of the small weirwood tree. Tyrion released her hand, a small gathering was waiting clustered around the tree. Pod and Tyrion went over to the white tree, standing either side of the hanging face. Part of Sansa wondered when the weirwood would be old enough for a face, another part began to cry as she realised what was happening. Tyrion's necklace was so beautiful, but the thoughtfulness that had crafted this... Lord Idris was stood beside her, he put her Stark cloak back on her and took her arm in his. She half dragged him forwards.

Pod called out to them. "Who comes before the Gods this night?"

Lord Idris replied. "Lady Sansa of House Stark a woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg that the Gods give blessing to a marriage. Who comes to claim Lady Sansa?"

"Lord Tyrion of House Lannister. Who presents her?"

"Lord Idris of House Ironfur."

"Will you take this man?"

"I take this man." Sansa couldn't stop the tears even as she saw Tyrion looking at her concernedly. She grabbed his hand and knelt, Tyrion followed her lead. After short and silent prayer, Tyrion draped the Lannister cloak onto her again. The wedding was over.

Tyrion led her out of the Godswood in silence, his hand in hers comforting her. Despite her current level of drunkenness the cold night's air had stirred some sobriety into her thoughts. She wondered how great the pain would be when he took her maidenhead. Jonella had assured her that it had been nearly painless for her.

She was jerked from her thoughts when Tyrion stopped suddenly. She followed his gaze and found Lord Tywin looking down upon them from a balcony that overlooked the Godswood. He disappeared into the shadows, seemingly satisfied by what he had seen.

Finally they arrived in their chambers, Tyrion bolted the door and led Sansa to the bed. "If you do not want to do this we need not. I shan't force you to lie with me." She had shook her head and pulled him towards her, kissing him before pulling away with wide eyes.

"So unlady-hic-like." She hiccupped slightly and Tyrion sighed. Sansa began to divest but Tyrion covered his eyes once again. He went about the chambers blowing out candles before clambering into the bed, having only removed his doublet, shirt and shoes. Sansa reached out a hand and Tyrion kissed it.

"Sleep, Sansa. We can discuss this tomorrow, when you're sober again." She began to mumble at him before burrowing her face into his chest. Tyrion tensed against her.

He seemed to be trying to restrain himself before finally wrapping his arms around her naked form.


	34. Old Bones

The Green Fork had burst her banks. Her newborn marsh almost seemed to stretch all the way to the Mountains of the Moon and Karl certainly did not have time to ride through the Vale on his way north. The group that had ridden ahead of him could well be past the Twins by this time and he had hoped to be riding in the safety of numbers before he came upon the Neck.

His horse shuddered and fought the reins as he tried to drive it through the marshlands. In a moon's time this land would be dry as anywhere else on the Kingsroad, perhaps he ought to simply wait. Another violent jolt. Karl sighed, slipped from his horse's back and began to seek out something resembling solid ground. They'd be stuck here for the night. Erenford was half a day to the east and night would soon be falling, it would be unwise to be caught on the open road by any of the clansmen who might have remained in the Mountains of the Moon.

Just as Karl was settling by his small fire, his horse sat nearby, a lantern appeared on the far side of the Green Fork. He paused in practicing the magic the small man had introduced him to. Lord Idris had been impressed when Karl had skin-changed in front of him before and had eagerly wondered, much as Karl had himself, as to whether it was possible for Karl to change his skin into anything else. Much effort had found Karl with a paw for a left hand. He stood suddenly, the lapse in concentration bringing a human hand back to his arm.

The lantern got closer until Karl could distinguish the man holding. "Captain! The river flooded, we've been waiting this side for you to turn up. Don't know which way to go and the horses won't go back across now that the flood has calmed!" Karl began to pull his own horse towards the bank, whispering to it. He had found that since he first skin-changed he was far more in tune with other animals. He could probably persuade this horse to swim.

His clothes hadn't dried yet when he arrived at the camp. There had been no deserters in his absence this time and it was clear that they had had to resort to foraging when a bowl of berry paste made its way to his frozen hands. Karl held his hands up to the fire before gently blowing on his hands.

"You want to hear a story Captain?" Karl turned towards the man perched on a log beside him. There was little else to do so he nodded. "In the woods near to here there was a man, he was lost wandering in the woods on a cold winter night." Karl looked out to a nearby copse of trees, a wind was blowing the autumn leaves into a beautiful dance. "He came across a Child who invited him to sit by the fire and share of some food. The man went and sat at the fire and he blew on his hands. The Child asked why he was blowing on his hands. And the man replied that he was warming his hands up." Karl nodded in understanding, having only done so himself moments before. "The Child smiled and thanked him for answering his question, then gave him a bowl of soup. The man blew on the soup and the Child asked him if it was too cold, and reached forwards to take the bowl and heat it up at the fire some more. But the man told him that he was blowing on the soup to cool it down." Karl chuckled. "The Child ran away in terror. What foul creature blows both winds of summer and winter!" Many of the listeners were smiling along to the story.

Karl stayed up late that night. The story had been false, or at least the idea that it had happened in this place was, but was it impossible that Children still lived in these woods? Besides pondering the difficulty of discovering an ancient people who had lived in hiding for millennia he also looked over a map. They would have to ride to Oldstones and go through Seagard instead of simply riding through the Freylands. This posed an issue, if they chose the wrong road then they'd have to pay a toll at the Twins and join the Kingsroad. They couldn't afford to pay a toll. Letters had also found their way to them from Lord Tywin Lannister, Robb Stark was keeping several prisoners at Seagard, none so important as Jaime Lannister, but still, for Westermen to suddenly arrive would be suspicious.

Dawn came sooner than he expected. Autumn was playing games it would seem. He roused those who were still asleep and they began their journey into the hills towards the ancient ringcastle of the Mudd Kings. The castle had fallen into ruin, as had the small town that used to thrive outside of its walls. The huge stone gates were heavily marked with runes, the Maesters could not read the runes of the First Men, even the Ironmountain had seemingly forgotten such runes. Karl suspected that some at the Ironmountain did remember, those seamstresses that were permitted to work iron thread from the Heart of the Ironmountain tended to embellish their armours with runes.

Karl ran a hand down his own riding armour. It was simple and plain, no runes, no family sigil, no story. He had bought it in exchange for his first-born's apprenticeship. Darvold had taken to being an iron seamster with ease and Karl had been especially proud when Darvold had gifted his sister a fine dress. He was now running the White Hag's smithy and loom in town after his mistress recently fell ill.

The gates were very slightly ajar and the group pressed through the narrow gap and set camp that night in the great hall. It had been three days ride to reach the ringcastle and along the way they had found a small village with fish for sale at market. They had rationed the fish out and it was expected to see them through until the next evening.

Karl climbed up to the battlements of the ancient fortress. He gazed out into the ruined town. Howls began to ring out into the night. Karl took a step back and shouted out, it sounded as if a pack of hundreds was stood right beside him. He heard his men drawing swords and the clanging of armour on stone as they rushed up the steps to join him.

"Where did that come from?!" Karl received no replies. He turned back to the stairs only to see a blur launch itself into the air and knock him off of the battlements. As he fell the sounds of fighting was unmistakable. A body fell down past him. He recognised the face, the throat was torn beyond belief. Several bodies, more canine in appearance, also dropped past him onto the cobbles below.

There was more howling and the fighting began to quiet. It was quickly replaced by shouting. "Go find the Captain! Where is he?!"  
Karl looked up at them in surprise, couldn't they see him? He was still falling from the battlements, just below them. He twisted to look at the ground beneath him. It didn't seem to be getting any closer. Then he saw the blur that had thrown him from the battlements. It's large yellow eyes looked back at him. The snout was elongated, the teeth curved back. It was far larger than any ordinary wolf. Its muzzle tapped him and he flumped onto the cobblestones. His feathers faded away before he even realised he had been flying. He had always found it difficult to wear another skin, let alone to use it, how he had succeeded in flying for so long was beyond him.

The creature before him was not a wolf, it was to obviously different and yet it couldn't be what he thought it might be as this was far larger than the direwolf he had seen in King Robb's war tent. Then it bit into his shoulder.

His scream of pain echoed in the night.


	35. Looking Eastwards

"Lord Varys." Idris called out to the man shuffling along behind him. "I wonder if you have become so bold as to thrust a knife into my back yourself or if you have something you would like to say." The bald man shuffled past and turned to face him. He bowed slightly and dropped a knife from a sleeve. Idris raised an eybrow.

"I am no Lord, my Lord. But I do have much to say." Varys turned to continue along the corridor towards the rooms that Jonella and the children were still sleeping in. Idris went to follow when a young boy stepped out of a nearby room and took the knife from the floor before sprinting away. "This way my Lord!" Varys called from the end of the corridor.

It wasn't long before they were in the relative privacy of Idris' small study. His new position as an advisor to the Small Council had afforded him this extra luxury. The sun would rise soon. "What is it that you felt the need to inform me of?"

"Fire and blood." Idris put his hands onto the desk, his fingers tapping softly on the hard wood. "Dragons in particular, there has been a dragon attack in Astapor." He paused, gauging Idris' face for any further reactions. He sighed and continued. "Daenarys Targaryen has three dragons and has conquered Astapor, just yesterday I receive a letter detailing that Yunkai submitted to her. She has taken an army of Unsullied and she's preparing to invade." Idris leant back in his chair.

"And?" Varys looked confused. "Why have you come to me with this?"

"I would like for you to bring this to the attention of the Small Council, they will listen to you. I have been bringing forth news about the girl for several years and they haven't done much of anything yet." Idris nodded.

"I would like to see these reports myself." Varys nodded slowly. "Tell me Varys. Have you any little birds in the Five Forts." Varys froze.

"Why?"

"I sent a letter east recently, they haven't replied." Varys resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Are you still worrying about ancient monsters coming out of the north?" He chuckled softly. "Lord Idris, I do understand that your people are more willing to believe in myths and legends but truly, they are only that. Myths and legends. I had hoped that you would prove to be more educated than the rest of your men. Perhaps I should not have expected so much." The smaller man stood, bowed and turned to leave.

"You've been hearing tales from YI TI." Varys looked back. "They've manned the Five Forts, don't deny it." Varys sweeped out of the room. A door creaked open to Idris' right. Jonella was stood in the doorway, their daughter suckling at her breast. Alys' hair had begun to darken, it was now closing in on becoming flame. Meanwhile Gwyn, who was still laid in the middle of the bed had the age old iron-grey hair of all the male members of House Ironfur.

Jonella came closer and granted him a soft kiss before pulling back to give Alys more space. Idris grunted and rose from the desk, it would be a Small Council meeting that afternoon and he had been on guard most of the night. A small boy delivered Varys' letters after breakfast and for the next hour Idris familiarised himself with the letters and their details. Jonella too, paid attention to their contents even whilst trying to teach Gwyn and Alys to sit on the floor by themselves. They'd seen their first month a few days prior, Sansa had marked the occasion with gifting the two with a blanket for their as yet nonexisting cot.

The sun was past its zenith when Idris walked through the oaken doors of the Small Council. Grand Maester Pycelle stood to meet him, as always. "Lord Idris, I have received reports that you and your family have been practicing black magics in your keep! Yes, foul, dark, evil magics in that secret room, The Heart of the Ironmountain, yes that's what they call it." The old man turned to Lord Tywin. "Lord Hand, surely these claims must be investigated!" Lord Tywin looked like he wanted to slit Pycelle's throat.

"Grand Maester, I assure you I perform no black magics in that room. Of course I dont, I perform them upon the door to your chambers!" Idris went to sit in the seat next to Tyrion. Pycelle's mouth opened and closed several times.

"Sit down Pycelle." Lord Tywin was angry. The meeting lasted over two hours before finally Lord Tywin asked or any further business. Lord Varys looked across at him, his gaze speaking rather clearly.

"It has been brought to my attention that Daenerys Targaryen is amassing an army and a fleet in Essos, she wishes to invade." Idris' hands were on the large table in the centre of the room and tapping away quickly. "She has conquered Astapor and Yunkai, she has an army of eight thousand Unsullied, three mercanary bands and, the letters all agree, three dragons. Dragons which seem to be growing larger every day. One letter says the largest in already the length of a wheelhouse, all of the letters I've seen agree that the largest is at least twice as large as a horse." There was some murmuring at the table.

"And she is preparing to invade here?" Lord Tywin met his gaze.

"Not first. She'll take Meereen first, she needs their fleet and then it is unsure. Perhaps she will try to reunite the Dothraki for her army or perhaps she will see if the Free Cities will provide her one."

"Then Lord Tyrell, see to it that the Royal Fleet is built before she can arrive. We'll sink her in the Narrow Sea before she can even set foot on Westeros." Tyrion squirmed beside Idris.

"We can't afford a warfleet. We can't afford anything. The Iron Bank is owed three millions dragons and a warfleet will only make us owe more. They're going to side with her if we can't repay our debts." Lord Tywin gritted his teeth.

"Then I am sure Lord Tyrell will gladly fund the Royal Fleet himself." He fixed his glare on the overweight man.

"Of course, yes, yes." He seemed to be trying to run away even whilst being in his seat. His body was pressed so far into the back of the seat that Idris wondered if he might have an imprint on his own back. The council was dismissed shortly afterwards and he and Tyrion went to the Godswood together. The young weirwood tree still was without face. Idris cut into his hand and watched as the tree eagerly drank. After a short discussion about the new threat and watching the first stars appear, they parted ways.

When Idris returned to his chambers, he saw Jonella at his desk with pen and ink. Gwyn and Alys were huddled up together, Sansa's blanket trapped under them as they lay on the floor. Gwyn had seemingly latched onto Alys' thumb in his sleep and was gripping it tight to his tiny chest. Idris leant over Jonella's shoulder and glanced at the letter she was writing. He froze when he read the name. Jonella had stiffened beneath him.

Daenerys Targaryen.


	36. Lord Of Dragonstone

A clawed hand struck his face. Torrhen gasped awake, Godsblood's face hovered just above his, the Children were all awake and armed. A bright red light shone in through the windows, set high in the walls, and Torrhen pushed himself up from the cot in the barracks Lord Ironfur had assigned to the Children. He turned to look at Godsblood. He nodded. Torrhen couldn't understand what he had just seen. The dream had felt so real, so vivid and yet...

He rushed to the door and peered outside. The sun had just begun to rise and King's Landing was already awakening, the rumbling of carts on the way to market could be felt from the Red Keep. He sighed and thought back over his night. Doe and Corwyn had been sat in a corner. She was rather swollen now. Corwyn had been massaging her, the creaking of her skin playing music into the small room. Spears had been sharpening his collection of spears and Godsblood had been speaking with the youngest Children, he served to be their teacher despite many of the 'young' Children being older than Torrhen was himself. Torrhen had fallen asleep, sure that the group were safe enough for the night. And then he had dreamt.

There had been a man with dark brown hair, nearer to black than a true brown. A small tray sat on a tripod beside him and a brazier in front of him. Behind him was a young woman with hair dyed red and a light cloak coloured like blood. The man reached for a leech from the tray. "Say the name," A voice came from everywhere at once.

"The usurper," A different voice filled the dream. "Joffrey Baratheon." The man tossed a leech into the fire. It curled up amidst the coals and burned. The sound of the fire grew louder. The man grasped another leech. "The usurper," the voice was much louder this time. "Balon Greyjoy." The leech landed in the flames, its flesh spilt and cracked. Blood burst forth, hissing and smoking. The last leech was in the man's hand. He watched it squirming for a moment. The woman's hand touched his shoulder. It was wrinkled. Torrhen looked at the woman. Her hair had lost its colour, turning a sharp white, her skin had shriveled and her back had curled. "The usurper, Robb Stark." He threw the last leech onto the brazier and left the room. The woman went to follow him, her wizened old body moving too well for its appearance.

Then she had straightened, her hair had darkened into red, her skin had become smooth again and she had faced him. Torrhen didn't dare to breathe, even whilst he was in a dream. She looked about the room a few times and went to the door. With a final glance at where Torrhen was stood she had left. The click of the door closing had faded into the touch of Godsblood's clawed hand on his cheek.

Torrhen reentered the barracks to find the Children men had been woken, he assumed that Godsblood was the one to disturb them. Had that dream been real? Godsblood seemed to have understood Torrhen's confusion, even before he had even known that he was meant to be confused. Had Godsblood and his people somehow granted him greensight? Torrhen was unsure whether he wanted to see such things or not. "What's going on?" Torrhen looked over at Corwyn, he too was armed and he already had his ironfur on, the others were already dressing.

Torrhen shook his head. "I don't know." Godsblood looked at him sharply. "Magic?" Godsblood's look softened. The door opened. Torrhen turned to see the Children already leaving. They didn't have any cloaks on, their armour wouldn't conceal their non-human appearance for long. Torrhen rushed out to catch up with them. The men assigned to guarding the Children followed after him.

It wasn't long before Godsblood was rapping on Lord Ironfur's chamber's door. The door opened quickly. "Torrhen, Chief Godsblood." Lord Ironfur nodded his head. "Why are you here?"

"Magic, Dark Gods. The burning stag." Godsblood entered the chambers, the Children entered with him. "A debt has been bound into blood. Three deaths, three names for the burning stag's Fire God."

"Which names?"

Torrhen answered. "Joffrey Baratheon, Balon Greyjoy and Robb Stark." Lord Ironfur looked solemn. He nodded once and went into his bedchamber for a short while. Torrhen could just hear the sounds of a conversation, he expected that Godsblood could hear it entirely. In his time amongst the Children he had come to understand that their senses were far superior to his own.

Lord Ironfur returned. "There is no immediate threat to us at the moment. I want the Children assigned to guard duty and bring Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa here." He walked to a desk against the wall to Torrhen's right. Paper lay all over the desk and he cleared a small area in front of the chair. He glanced up at Torrhen and, seeing him still there, said, "Go!".

Torrhen commanded the men to take the Children back to the barracks and modify their robes so that they could be worn over the armour. He then went to run to Lord Tyrion's chambers. Lord Tyrion had visited the Children thrice since his first visit and Torrhen and Godsblood had both attended the second wedding. He struck the door twice before it opened. A handmaiden stood frowning at him, Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa were having their breakfast. From this distance it seemed that they were having a rather amicable conversation. He suspected that the conversation they were about to have would be far less enjoyable. "Lord Ironfur requests Lord and Lady Lannister meet with him immediately." Lady Sansa seemed to almost flinch at being referred to as 'Lady Lannister'. Lord Tyrion grasped his wife's hand and began to rise.

"In his chambers?" Torrhen nodded. "We will be there right away." Torrhen wondered what they might talk about.


	37. Beautiful and Young Maesters

He had found work at a nearby inn. Men who were quick with a blade and capable with gold were welcome hands and Yorwick had taken to his work at the inn easily. He was tasked with doing, in essence, whatever the innkeeper wanted. At some times he would be working over a stove, at others he would be behind the counter joking and laughing with customers, on the odd occasion he would chase after a thief or, if they had been fool enough to threaten the innkeeper and his family, beat them back into their place. He was becoming relatively well known in the local quarter of the city. He was well-enough paid for his time and could afford to feed himself and Arianne.

The sun had set two hours past and the innkeeper had kept him working since just after sunrise. He looked around the large common room. Two men were talking in a corner and there was still a band of the city watch sat around a few jugs of ale, keeping themselves warm near a hearth. The innkeeper waved him over to a door near the stairs that lead to the customers' rooms above the common room. "Here's todays pay lad." The innkeeper was an elderly man, he had a weathered, tan face and his hands would twitch every so often. He wasn't very talkative but he was rather passionate when his preferred subjects arose. He and his family had owned this inn since centuries past, or at least so he said. The sack of coins rested in Yorwick's hands an seemed the proper weight. Yorwick bowed his head and left.

The road here was unpaved, winds reshaped its sandy surface daily. The Old Man was the only inn for a fair distance. Yorwick knew of a few competitors on this side of the Greenblood but most were closer to the sea and the docks. He set off down the road towards the small river dock nearby where he had tied up the small row boat that he and Arianne kept stowed beside the wooden jetty at the back of their house. Arianne had enjoyed tipping into the river more times than Yorwick could count. He swore that he had been on the verge of scuttling the damned thing himself just to stop it. Alas she liked the boat too much to permit him to just sink it. She had even engraved a name into the side of the prow. ' _Fugitive_ ' whilst he wished she had chosen a name less, suspicious, he didn't have the heart to try to alter it.

She had proven to be a fierce woman and more than his equal with a blade, he would not attempt to provoke her. At least not in such a manner. Despite her confident manner he had succeeded in learning her tells. She couldn't hide much from him anymore, and he doubted that he could hide much from her either. He wondered what she would think of the latest news. Her little brother had vanished from Yronwood. He wasn't altogether so little having seen nine and ten years but all the same.

Yorwick tied Fugitive to her docking post at the back of their home and opened the door. Arianne was waiting for him, she was sat on the floor, cross-legged. Their meal was waiting before her and a small bag sat beside her. He looked at her for a short while. Arianne had taken on a habit of wearing dresses that were as enticing as she could attempt to explain away. Yorwick had noticed that many women in Plankytown dressed in rather revealing clothes. When he saw other women dressed in so little cloth he always felt on edge. His Princess however, she continued to stun him each day and each night as well. They had both grown adventurous, their trust having grown quickly between them. He flushed slightly as he thought back on their activities of the previous night. He'd never heard of a man and woman doing that before.

He sat down across from her, she was flushed slightly as well. Perhaps she also had been remembering the previous night, or perhaps he had stared a little to hungrily. Then she smiled brightly and held out the small bag. Yorwick took it into hand. He opened it quickly. It was filled with stags and stars. He looked back up at her, she was grinning. "How'd you get this?" She pouted dramatically and came closer.

"I didn't steal it, if that's what you're asking." He waited for a better answer. She giggled softly. "I'm teaching children to read and write, their parents will pay each lesson." Yorwick nodded and didn't respond. "You said that I don't have a trade, I need a skill in order to get a job. Well I'm literate, that's more than at least half this town. Its a useful skill." She explained. Yorwick nodded, smiling softly.

"There's nothing wrong with being a beautiful young maester, my princess." Arianne huffed.

"I'm not a maester." They both grinned at each other, Arianne's pay combined with his own was better than could ever have been expected. They would live comfortably here, until they had to flee from Martell soldiers or Lord Ironfur's mission brought him northwards. A frown dropped onto Yorwick's face. Would Arianne come north with him? The Wall was so very different from the Great Sands of Dorne. She leant forwards and kissed him gently, washing away his thoughts. They settled down to eat and soon the topic of her brother came up.

"The Yronwoods and Martells warred for centuries, it is possible the Yronwoods murdered him." Arianne's face was rather pensive. She spoke calmly as if the topic was little more than their plans tomorrow and not the potential fate of her oldest brother. He supposed that there was little point in worry with such little in the way of news.

"Your father may have intended your hand for a Targaryen, but you've disappeared. Perhaps he has chosen to make do with your brother's hand. There is a Targaryen Princess still out there in Essos after all." Arianne nodded.

"It would explain why no one knows where he is, Father couldn't want for anyone to know if he had gone to treat with Targaryens." Yorwick enjoyed it when Arianne allowed herself to sit calmly and think through possibilities. He liked to imagine that it was he who had instilled this new doctrine in her. He wondered if the little Prince would remember their conversation in Yronwood. If the Prince was indeed treating with dragons he would be wise to recognise the virtues of silence. The danger of too many words. For words were wind and wind birthed storms.

The maesters would be quick to remind little Princes of what happens when the storm angers the dragon.


	38. The Coming of Morning

His mattress seemed to be slipping out from under him. He groaned and began to roll over until his mattress let out a small squeak before moaning itself. Tyrion opened his eyes. Sansa lay partially beneath him, entirely without clothes and, based upon her current facial expression, a fierce hangover. Tyrion reached out a hand towards her and she flinched slightly. She seemed rather confused, did she not remember the previous night? Or perhaps she worried about what he might have done to her unconcious and nude form in the night.

His hand slipped down her cheek and pulled up on her chin so that their eyes met. "I assure you, nothing happened last night Sansa, my beautiful lady wife." She looked at him searchingly before nodding very slightly. She began to pull herself up, all the while hiding herself from him with the covers. And then she groaned aloud and fell back into the bed. Tyrion couldn't help but chuckle. She glared across at him. He chuckled harder, it seemed the Sansa that had scolded him for the delivery of her lunch all those weeks ago still remained within his wife. He slipped out of the bed, far more dressed than she was, and left the room quietly.

When he returned several minutes later, Sansa was sat on the floor leaning against the bed with a nightshift on. Tyrion deposited a small vial into her hands. "Drink, it does wonders." She looked up at him, removed the cap and drank it in one. Her pained look quickly faded. Worryingly it was replaced by a different expression. Tyrion wasn't quite sure how to interprete it. Her eyes seemed to become steel and she tensed significantly. "As today is the day after our wedding... our weddings? We will likely be left to ourselves. Usually this is to, well, continue the activities of the previous night but..." He paused and glanced away from her. He flushed slightly, it was peculiar but talking about not doing it seemed to be more intimate than talking about doing it. "I wondered what you might like to spend today doing?"

Sansa had stood up slowly during his rambling. "Shouldn't we consummate the marriage my lord?" Tyrion sighed and opened his mouth to speak. Sansa rolled her eyes. "Tyrion." He grinned at her and she grinned back.

"We don't have to." She looked down at her feet.

"But isn't it better to. If we consummate once then no one need know if we do not repeat it. You won't have to bed me any more than you wish. Else it will be known that we haven't consummated and then well, your father." Tyrion took a step closer, she stiffened and internally cursed herself. One of Tyrion's hands closed about one of hers.

"We shall wait until you are ready. Regardless of my father's attitude." Sansa looked up, about to respond before thinking better of it. She didn't know why she was pushing for it. Didn't she want to delay it for as long as possible? "So, my lady Sansa. How shall we spend this day?"

Sansa glanced back at the bed. She wouldn't have minded some more time in the bed, and yet she doubted it would particularly lady-like. "Perhaps a walk in the gardens?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow. It only toughened her resolve. "A walk in the gardens." Sansa walked to a nearby dresser and took out a dress. "Did you dismiss Shae?" Silence. Sansa glanced at the mirror on her vanity and watched Tyrion shuffle. She turned around. "I don't have a handmaiden anymore." Tyrion frowned.

"Then I'll be sure to find one for you. I'm sure there are plenty of handmaidens available." It was Sansa's turn to raise an eyebrow. She tried to put on her dress by herself. Tyrion looked away.

"Was it because she spilt wine on you?" Tyrion flushed and shook his head. His mouth opened and quickly shut. She could see him swallow.

"She was my mistress." Sansa froze. One arm was still sleeveless. "I vowed not to be disloyal to you. She refused to understand that and I had no choice but to send her away." He looked back up at her.

"Did you love her?" He shook his head.

"I don't know." Sansa nodded slowly, taking in this newest information. Tyrion may have sent away a woman he loved in the interest of ensuring this marriage began correctly. Sansa wondered how many other lords would have done the same. Her own father had had an affair during the early years of his marriage and he was widely regarded as honourable.

She stumbled inside her half worn dress and fell to the floor. Tyrion stood before her, he had caught an arm resulting in her knees and one side of her body to hit the cold stone floor but at least he had saved her another brutal headache. Sansa looked about the bedchambers. The walls were painted like the forests of the Ironmountain, weirwood trees and old soldier pines reached for a beautiful painted sky. The forest had been painted by Lord Idris' men as no one else in the Red Keep had ever lived in a forest before. When she looked around it seemed much like the Wolfswood. There were differences of course, fewer oaks lived in the wolfswood and weirwoods didn't grow scattered about the wild forests of the north as they did on the slopes of the Ironmountain. But all the same she appreciated the effort. Likely Sansa would have found it difficult to sleep peacefully in the gaudy red and gold decorations she expected to drape a Lannister's bedchambers.

On one wall hung both her Stark and her Lannister cloak. Tyrion had hung them himself from pegs that already rested on the wall. She was forbidden from having the Stark sigil on anything but, as Tyrion had pointed out, he was not forbidden from keeping reminders of his conquest over the barbaric northern pretender's family.

Eventually all of Sansa's limbs found a place within her dress and she took Tyrion's hand to begin the descent from their chambers to the gardens. She pulled him to a stop in a secluded part of the garden, knelt down and kissed him gently. He froze in shock before beginning to return her kiss.

When she pulled back they were both grinning.


	39. Wolfish Woods

When he awoke the sun was high in the sky. The pain meant he could barely move. Karl rolled onto one side and cried out in pain. He looked at the shoulder that had just hit the ground. It was covered in jagged scarring and scabs. He could see some blood and puss now dripping from some re-opened wounds. A growl drew his attention. The large direwolf from before was stood a few metres away. He tried to shuffle backwards away from the beast. It didn't move, he didn't make much progress in escaping it either, however.

Karl wounded how long he had been unconscious. Were his men still alive? The attack from this wolf pack was deadly, he'd seen several men torn from the battlements. And yet he still lived. Karl tried to concentrate through the pain in order to shift from one skin to another. No change occurred. His legs seemed to be twisted, or even broken. It wasn't obvious from the outside but he was certain that no skin-changing would occur whilst he couldn't control his own legs.

The direwolf came forward. It sniffed at him before disappearing into the trees. Karl called out for the wolf to come back. This wolf was his only way back to the men. When it became apparent the wolf would be gone a while, he began to look around the area that he was in. The forest seemed much like any other. Old and broad oaks watched over some younger willow trees. Roots reached out from the ground, threatening to trip those travellers who weren't careful. Karl tried to pull himself from where he had been left.

In all directions, the forest seemed to be just as thick and just the same. He couldn't hear the babbling of any brooks nor the roar of a river. It appeared to be hopeless. By the time he'd navigated a variety of roots the sun was nearly set and he was nearly a hundred feet from where he had woken. The soft patter of paws drew his head towards an approaching direwolf. It dropped a lump of bloody meat onto the ground beside him. He looked up at the creature questioningly. It simply sat and watched him. Karl took the meat and bit into it. It tasted awful, and yet he expected it was the only food he would get that evening.

He slept poorly the rest of the night. The next day he awoke at dawn. The direwolf was watching him again. It seemed to be more conscious of what it was doing than he might have expected of a wolf. As if it was some cook experimenting with its recipe. Karl sincerely hoped he was not just some new recipe. Karl then began a new day of dragging himself across the forest floor. As he progresses the direwolf followed. Other wolves began to make appearances but each was smaller than she was. He assumed she was the alpha of this pack.

By his third day, he had met almost the whole pack. They all seemed to watch over him, only leaving to hunt and, he presumed, when he slept. On the fourth day, they vanished. They did not return with more meat. The pack did not return at all. The direwolf, however, did return one final time. It let out an ear-splitting howl and fled into the woods, with only one short glance backwards. Later that day, he heard horses amongst the trees.

Never before had he been so pleased to see any of his men than that day.


	40. Common Whores

He looked out from the city walls. It had been two moons. The Mud Gate had been repaired and the docks dredged. Already the Battle of Blackwater was fading away into history. He still received the occasional word of praise from passersby when he and Jonella went on their walks, but all in all, life had settled. Gwyn and Alys were perched atop a turret. They could barely sit up alone and the pair were being held up by each of his hands. Jonella would have scolded him if she saw. He grinned.

Footsteps approached from the right. Idris turned his head. A patrol of four was making their rounds of the city walls. Two clad in ironfurs, the other two in thick robes. The hoods of their robes drenched their faces in shadows. Stannis had failed his attack with his army but that didn't mean he would not attempt more devious tactics. The patrol passed and Alys cooed. When Idris turned about he found her and Gwyn fighting. He sighed and picked the two up.

The family climbed down the steps of one of the towers along the walls and began to wander back home to their still sleeping mother. Jonella was not usually up so early and it had become Idris' duty to tend to the children until sunrise at the least. The two babies didn't seem to mind very much. As they walked he noticed a few old Ironfur banners and flags hanging from windows and the sides of buildings. He wondered which had seen the battle and which were made later. On the return, the three of them always stopped at an old oak tree in Flea Bottom. A face had been carved into the aged wood. It was a new face, it had been made since the battle.

When at last they arrived at the Red Keep, Jonella was already awake and entertaining guests. Lord Varys sat at the table, Idris nearly growled when the man touched his hand to Jonella's. She saw him and rolled her eyes before standing to give a brief and gentle kiss. Gwyn and Alys made their presence known and Jonella giggled as she leant down to kiss the two of them.

"Lord Tywin has requested that the Small Council convenes immediately, my Lord." Lord Varys bowed his head. Idris' mouth thinned into a slit as he turned to face the Master of Whisperers. He nodded briefly and opened the door. Lord Varys seemed to understand the message, he bowed and shuffled out of the room. Jonella laughed again.

Idris continued to look grumpily at the door. "You haven't forgotten that he is a eunuch, have you?"

"Of course I haven't."

"Lord Lewys told you not to go cutting off hands." Idris turned back to Jonella and grinned.

"Indeed he did." The door opened. Idris slipped out. The door shut.

When he arrived in the council chambers, he found all of the members already there. He sat in his usual place beside Tyrion and smiled thinly when Grand Maester Pycelle kept quiet. It had been quite some time now since one of Pycelle's theories about the Ironmountain and how protective House Ironfur were of their family's secrets. A series of letters were sat waiting in front of Lord Tywin. "Shall we begin?" The old lion seemed equally amused. Idris doubted it was for quite the same reason. He glanced around, noting the two Kingsguard in attendance and then the boy king himself, perched on a chair, mostly hidden by his mother.

"We have received a letter from a Bowen Marsh." Lord Varys nodded. "He is the First Steward of the Night's Watch and informs us that the Lord Commander has chosen to sally forth against the Wildlings and try to scatter them. He claims they left over a month ago and have not yet returned." He looked at each councillor. "He humbly requests, more supplies and more men." He faces Idris. "You are mentioned Lord Ironfur, apparently you have already promised men to the Watch and Bowen Marsh asks that you persuade your king to follow suit."

Idris nodded slowly. "Lord Ironfur, I haven't given you permission to send men away. Your men should be fighting my war." The boy king spoke.

"My men are fighting your war. Your Grace. Ironfur men patrol the city walls, Ironfur men man the battlements of the Red Keep and Ironfur men fought the Battle of Blackwater." The king turned to look at his grandfather.

His fist struck the wooden table. "My hand fought the Battle of Blackwater. He won the battle, not you, you savage. You should have been thrown out along with my uncle's savages!" The boy king's mother smiled sweetly and took the boy's hand into her own.

"Indeed Lord Ironfur, perhaps it would be best if you left the city." Idris glanced at Lord Tywin. He seemed rather angered. Idris wondered whether it was at him or at the king.

"Very well, after this council meeting, I shall depart. I have made a promise to send men to the Watch, I shall ride this afternoon." Idris nodded. "Of course, I would advise that you send men as well. The Wildlings getting past the Wall is more than just a problem for the Watch." The king gritted his teeth.

"Will you be taking the bastards with you?" Idris looked again at the Queen Mother.

"Pardon?"

"The twins your mistress just birthed. Lady Winterbane?"

Tyrion spoke up. "Lady Jonella is Lord Idris' lawful wife, Sister."

She laughed. "Of course, of course. But what sort of a wife is a peasant woman? Nothing much more than a whore really." She took a sip of wine as Idris' fury burnt. "And the children, nothing much more than bastards, if they aren't truly bastards. Who's to say your commoner whore didn't want someone else's money as well?"

Idris stood up. His hand reached for a dagger as his chair fell backwards. He growled and the two Kingsguard approached. "Enough!" Lord Tywin shouted. "That is enough. Lord Ironfur, I wish you well on your travels." He waved towards the door.

Idris spat on the table and stormed from the room to the sounds of arguing behind him.


	41. A Day of Fire

The riots began that night. Tyrion stood on the balcony as fires sprang up throughout the city. Even from the Red Keep the sounds of fighting rang in his ears. His father had been right, Lord Ironfur had the support of the common people, and without him, the city had already begun to collapse. Tyrion had watched as the Ironfurs left through the Lion's Gate and along the Gold Road until they were out of sight. He sighed as he turned back to his chambers and shut the glass doors onto the balcony.

Sansa was still awake, the fear that rioters might break into the Red Keep was clearly pulling at her. He clambered up into the bed and took her face in his hands. "Sansa," he whispered softly, "It'll be alright, the Lannister soldiers are much better than the Gold Cloaks ever were. No-one will get into the castle." She glanced at the door and back at him before nodding and laying herself on him. He smiled as he tucked them both in.

With the coming of dawn, the fires did not end. The fighting had calmed and some of the flames had died but it was still clear that parts of the city were at war with itself. A knock came to the door. "Tyrion!" His father called for him. Another knock.

"Yes, father?" Sansa stirred beside him. The door opened as Tywin pushed into the room leaving Tyrion relieved that he and Sansa were both fully dressed that night. He handed Tyrion an envelope.

"Varys found this. Read it." Tyrion took the letter, it detailed correspondences between Daenerys Targaryen and Jonella Winterbane. He looked up in shock, had they betrayed him? Tywin frowned at him. "The city is in the midst of a battle, we can't send riders after them now, but I will march on the Ironmountain as soon as possible. You will take the role of Hand once more while I am gone." Tywin glanced at Sansa. "When I have returned from the Ironmountain, she will have conceived. Or I will see to it that she does." He turned and left.

Tyrion looked to Sansa, she was pale and confused. He took her hand in one of his own, only for her to pull it away. She stared at her hands for quite some time. Tyrion sighed, there was work to be done now. He slipped out of the bed and began to dress. Sansa snapped out of her introspection as Tyrion went to leave. "My Lord?"

"Tonight." Tyrion nodded and closed the door, vanishing into the castle's depths as fast as he could.

As he entered the study of the Master of Coin, he found Varys already sat in the chair across from his own. Tyrion sat and looked across as the Master of Whispers. "An interesting letter, wouldn't you agree?" Tyrion still held it in his hand.

"Is it true?"

"Very much so." Tyrion watched Varys' face. It was entirely undecipherable. He sighed.

"My father intends to march on the Ironmountain."

"He is not the first to attack the Ironmountain before." Varys stood gracefully. "The fortress will hold, just as it always has. I doubt even dragons could find a way into Her heart." He walked over to one of the bookcases. His fingers ran across the spines of the books. "Of course it doesn't matter either way. Our mutual friend rides for the Wall." Varys turned to look at Tyrion.

"He left along the Gold Road." Tyrion couldn't make out the title of the book Varys had selected.

"Oh yes. But the Riverroad to Harrenhal is not far from the Ironmountain. Perhaps you've heard, Harrenhal is in the hands of Robb Stark now. I doubt that Stark would stop anyone riding for the Wall, don't you?" Tyrion pulled an inkwell and pen from the drawers of his desk. "I should congratulate you." Tyrion looked up at him. "You'll be Hand again. You were a very good Hand."

"Thank you. If that's all, I'd rather have some time alone." Tyrion did not regret the bite in his voice. Varys bowed and left the room, book cradled in his arms.

It was sometime later that the sun began to set. Later still, when Tyrion left his study and climbed to the chambers that he shared with Sansa. When he entered, he found her sat on the balcony. Her hair was loose down her back, flames danced across it as they were reflected from the candles lighting the room. She wore a simple dress and had a jug and two glasses in front of her on the floor. He walked out onto the balcony to find the jug already nearly empty. She smiled at him as she watched him pour them both one glass each, the jug then running dry. "Did you drink all of this?" He tipped the jug upside down. Sansa giggled.

"Of course not." This evening was much calmer than the one before. Over the course of the day, fires had been put out and rioters had been returned to their homes or killed. She leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. "Tonight?" He nodded slowly. She relaxed against his side, her hand gripping his. She nodded in reply.

A full moon looked down upon them as they lay together, both aloud with pleasure. That night was passed in intimacy from the balcony floor to the bed, Sansa's maidenhood staining the stones.

As the stars returned to their daily slumber, they too surrendered to sleep.


End file.
